


Undo

by vailkagami



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, M/M, Multi, Self-Harm, Temporary Character Death, mental issues, torture (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vailkagami/pseuds/vailkagami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to steal information from Tony Stark's brain, the villains of the week accidentally unlock the memories Tony lost after deleting his mind. Now he remembers everything, but it's all fresh and raw and without logical order. Worst of all, he remembers Steve dying, but has no recollection of him coming back. As a result, seeing Steve just makes everything worse, and the memories Tony has of their recent relationship make no sense and drive him crazy.<br/>Consequently, Steve gets banned from seeing Tony until he gets better and it's Rhodey who gets to be there for his friend while Tony struggles not to fall apart. Steve, meanwhile, gets to deal with the media, who have just now learned of Captain America and Iron Man's romantic involvement. It is not something he excels at.<br/>And then things get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Отмена](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655269) by [MouseGemini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MouseGemini/pseuds/MouseGemini)



> This story was originally witten for a big bang, but just about everything went wrong with it. At first, I didn't get an artist, then I got two artists but after a few mails didn't hear back from them. Going through a bit of a slump myself and knowing that at least one of them was struggling with real life problems of her own, I never made the effort to write and see if they were still in, so I can't actually blame them for not delivering.  
> Having no reason to finish at a certain time and lacking the energy to re-read and edit the story, I needed no less than four months to actually do so.
> 
> The only person who did not fail in this project is my beta, [dorothy_notgale](http://dorothy-notgale.livejournal.com/), who did a wonderful job catching my mistakes and suggesting changes that made more sense, and whom I owe an apology for needing this long and for not having any of the art she was looking forward to.

This time, when they throw him to the ground, he can’t even make a move to stop his fall. None at all. He hits the floor hard (concrete, slightly damp; a basement) and lies there, willing his body to move and managing no more than the twitch of a finger.

The kicks start raining down on him seconds later. It begins with a boot to his back, hard enough to maybe crack a rib or two, and before he can find his breath through the pain, the next boot hits him, and the next, kicking him in the stomach, the chest, the back and shoulders. Not holding back, either. They mean to hurt him badly, possibly kill him. But not at once; all three of them avoid hitting his head.

They want something from him still. He doesn’t know what. (He fears he does but there is no reason to fear this, is there, if he couldn’t do it even if he wanted to–)

He waits for death. Hopes for it. Whatever they want, they can’t get it if they kill him. He tries to throw himself into their kicks and punches, but his body won’t move. It has never been this bad before when they drugged him; they got better, or maybe they worked up to this. It’s like being trapped in a prison for flesh and broken bones and his mind is still so terribly, terribly clear.

(He thinks, Steve.)

His sense of time is as sharp as ever. He knows exactly how many minutes and seconds pass until they stop, and when they reach for him and pull him up, the touch of their hands terrifies him in a way their boots didn’t.

He can barely see, but he makes out enough. The surface they place him on is hard and cold and shaped like a dentist’s chair. He thinks he might have screamed in terror if he’d had the strength or the air. Maybe he coughs instead. (Maybe he doesn’t.)

The stabbing pain of the needles in his arm is almost drowned out by everything else and yet strangely sharp, as if it is the only thing that matters. Until they touch his neck. Until they jam something into his spine and his whole world goes white.

 

-

 

It takes a goddamn week to find Tony, and when they finally do, it’s almost too late. Almost too late to save his life, and definitely too late to get the ones who did this to him. The people who took Tony from right under their noses, who took him from Steve while Steve was less than twenty feet away and utterly clueless. (He didn’t even realize Tony was missing for another thirty minutes.)

The people Steve has wanted to get into his grasp for seven days.

Not for revenge. That would be wrong, wouldn’t make him better than the average villain. Revenge is never a good reason to do anything, and Captain America knows that, of course he does. But when they finally find Tony and he’s lying pale and broken in that monstrosity of a chair, attached to a monstrosity of a machine, not moving, Steve Rogers has a hard time remembering why.

They lift Tony off the thing, and they have to be careful because there are broken bones—a lot of broken bones—and there are wires leading into his body, tubes in his arms that they have to pull out and don’t know what they are for and Tony doesn’t move. He doesn’t open his eyes and tell them what to do and that he’s going to be okay. He just lies there.

There’s a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder; it’s probably Sam, and Steve feels grateful because the simple contact keeps him from losing it when, for a long, horrible moment, he thinks Tony is dead and sees the future stretching out before him endlessly; the first, icy breath of grief.

Then they lift Tony’s head and there’s something embedded in his neck that makes a terrible sound as they slide it out and someone says something about Tony’s spinal cord and how they don’t know what this thing did to him. There’s a large machine, like a computer, like something out of a horror movie, but it’s turned off and cold like everything else. The kidnappers did something to Tony, used him somehow, and when they were done they left him behind like so much garbage.

They didn’t even care enough to make sure he’s dead. Because he isn’t. He’s alive, he’s breathing—when Steve stands very close to him and everyone is quiet for a blessed second, between one heartbeat and the next, Steve can hear his breath, soft and rattling from the blood in his lungs, but there. He holds Tony’s hand as they wheel him outside to where the ambulance is waiting, trying not to get in the way of the paramedics yet unable to let go. As though if Steve lets them, they might take him away again and not give him back.

Tony’s left hand is utterly still as Steve lifts it to his face and presses it to his lips. The right hand is broken, the fingers twisted and ivory bone just barely visible through the dried blood on the back. It’s okay. Tony is left-handed. It’s going to be okay.

There’s blood on Tony’s lips.

The doors of the ambulance slam closed and shut the world out.

 

-

 

Waiting is always the worst, and it seems that in the past several days it’s all Steve has done. Waiting for Tony to show up. Waiting for anyone to find a clue to what happened to him. Waiting until they figured out from the clues where he was being held. Waiting for the jet to get them there. Now, he’s waiting for Tony to wake up, for Steve to be allowed to see him, for the doctors to give him news, good or bad. He stares out of the window waiting for the night to end.

At dawn, a doctor comes and tells him: Yes, Tony is going to live. No, he hasn’t woken up yet. No, Steve can’t see him.

When she’s gone, Steve sits down for the first time in hours, relieved and lost, out of place.

Jan’s hand on his shoulder is small and fragile. “Tony is going to be okay. You heard the doctor.” It’s supposed to be comforting. Maybe for both of them.

“She said he’s going to live,” Steve corrects her. “Not that he will be okay.” They don’t know enough yet because no one will tell them. Jan falls silent and together they resume waiting.

The people who did this to Tony are still out there, and Steve is not looking for them. He stares at his hands, willing them to unclench, but they don’t. Jan’s head lists to the side when she falls asleep after hours of being here. Two other people enter the small waiting room, a mother and son by the look of it, and they keep staring with wide eyes at the superheroes’ bright costumes until Steve stares back and they flee.

Just after eight a.m. Pepper Potts calls, asking for news, but Steve has little to give her. She’s on her way, but on the other side of the country. Steve wants to tell her there’s nothing she can do when she’s here but hangs up with only a sound of acknowledgement.

Just after nine he’s finally allowed to see Tony, but not to be with him. He stands outside the room in the ICU and watches through the window as a nurse checks all the machines surrounding Tony’s bed and then leaves. She greets Steve when she passes him and Tony is on life-support, with a tube down his throat and needles in his arms and wires everywhere. Steve thinks of the machine they found him in and all the things it did to him that they don’t know about. He still looks vulnerable and defenseless: pale, thin, and fragile. Like this bed is something Steve has to save him from.

He’s still standing frozen in front of the window when Maria Hill walks up to him what feels like hours later but probably isn’t. Steve acknowledges her presence with a nod.

For a moment they watch Tony together, and Steve briefly thinks about how Maria once had something with Tony; how Tony doesn’t remember and Maria doesn’t care. But maybe she cares about Tony nonetheless and Steve should have called her and given her something other than what the news might be saying.

“How is he?” she eventually asks. Chances are she already knows, but then, Maria is not one to waste time with redundancy.

“Broken ribs,” Steve tells her. “Punctured lung. Cracked collarbone. Fractured wrist and seven broken bones in his right hand. Dislocated knee, shattered ankle. Internal bleeding.” He shrugs, feeling helpless in the face of his own words. “He’ll live.”

“Well, obviously.” Maria’s tone is hard to interpret. “When will he wake up?”

“They don’t know. The men who took him did something to him. They drugged him and the doctors don’t know with what. And Extremis changed his body; even if it’s not active anymore, there are still things about his anatomy that aren’t normal. Not to mention the RT. A nurse let slip he would probably have died without it.”

“Keeping him from dying is what the thing is for,” Maria points out, but she obviously knows what Steve means. “Are they all recent injuries?”

She wants to know if they tortured Tony for days or only at the end of it. Steve is glad that he can nod, say “Yes,” even though it’s not the entire truth. Tony is malnourished, has evidently been starved. The broken bones are all new but the fresh bruises layer over older ones and Tony’s wrists are a mess from days of fighting against bonds or handcuffs. But they did not keep him tied up with broken arms for days on end; at least that kind of torture was spared him this time.

“I want him to be taken to the Helicarrier as soon as he can be transported,” Steve finally says. Tony hates hospitals enough as it is, and while he’s guaranteed a single room here, the doctors and nurses are always curious when Tony Stark is involved, and reporters always manage to sneak in.

Most of all, Steve wants him somewhere where he’s safe and among people who can protect him all the time.

Maria nods like she didn’t expect anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees her biting her lip, hesitating. She wants to say something and doesn’t know how to bring it up, that much is obvious.

Steve doesn’t know if he wants to hear it. He has to at least ask, though. There might be things he has to do that go beyond standing in front of this window staring at Tony, even if he doesn’t feel up to anything else. “What is it?”

“There’s a lot of press outside. I don’t know how much longer until the first will get in here.”

Steve sighs. He’d expected that but thought they would have a little more time. “We need to make sure they don’t, then.”

“I fear it’s not quite that simple.” Finally, Maria moves and holds something out to Steve; a newspaper, by the look of it. When he reaches out to take it, she says, “There were reporters around when you guys got Tony out. I’m sorry.”

It’s not her fault, of course, so Steve thinks it must be a general expression of sympathy. It’s his own fault, no one else’s. “I didn’t think in that moment,” he admits as he looks at the front page, feeling oddly disconnected from everything. “I should have considered the possibility that someone would snap a photo.”

The picture is black-and-white and a little grainy, the way newspaper prints are, but it shows him clearly enough, sitting beside Tony in the ambulance and pressing Tony’s hand to his lips. The headline leaves little doubt that the reporter interpreted the gesture in exactly the right way.

“There’s little to go on for them,” Maria brings up. “Just this one picture that could mean anything. Leaves a lot of room for denial.”

Steve doesn’t even know how she knows. Or if she’d known before today. She doesn’t seem surprised in any case.

He shakes his head. “We would have made it official eventually anyway,” he tells her. “The time was never right. Now that it’s out, it would be silly to take it back.” He’ll just have to deal with it on his own, then. Deal with the press and everyone else and worry about Tony, who might not wake up for a long time.

But denying it would be like saying there’s something wrong with it, and it’s not like it would make them leave Steve and Tony alone.

Again, Maria doesn’t seem to be surprised by his decision, even though she looks skeptical, probably thinking, like him, about all the ways this can make their lives more difficult.

For now, Steve leaves her standing there and enters Tony’s room, sitting down on a chair by his bedside. Since there is no more reason not to, he takes Tony’s good hand and runs his fingers through his hair and tries to make the best of this one moment he has before he is needed elsewhere.

 

-

 

Tony’s mind swims to the surface and it’s a long time before any conscious thought emerges. His head is a mess, his thoughts jumbled. He seems to be thinking a million things at once but can’t grasp anything.

Eventually, the steady beating of a heart monitor penetrates his awareness. Hospital, then. He opens his eyes with effort and corrects himself: the sickbay onboard the Helicarrier. For a while he tries to remember what went wrong (or right) to land him here this time, but too much thinking makes him sick. He’s pretty sure it’s important – there’s something enormous waiting just outside the grasp of his mind, but whenever he tries to reach for it, the nausea gets worse and he feels like screaming. Like tearing his skin off. It’s driving him crazy.

His head is killing him. The last time it hurt so badly was when…

When Steve had…

“Tony,” Steve says, taking his hand, and Tony blacks out.

 

-

 

The RT in Tony’s chest doesn’t have quite the same regenerative potential the Extremis used to give him, but it still helps him heal at an impressive rate. A normal person would have been bound to the hospital bed for several weeks, if not months. Tony is ready to leave after twelve days. Not healed, far from it—he’ll need crutches for a while, and his skin is still showing traces of the bruises and cuts that used to decorate so much of it—but ready and oh-so-willing to go home.

Steve will take care of him there. At this point there is no use in pretending otherwise. Everyone knows by now, though no one really seems willing to talk about it. Perhaps they were all giving Steve a break while his partner was unconscious and hooked up to machines. Perhaps it has something to do with the way he glared at anyone who looked like they had something to say about his private life, as if it were any of their business.

Some SHIELD agents have given Steve funny looks the past few days, and he knows there is talking behind his back. Fortunately, he has a lot of friends who join him in the glaring game, and he heard that Carol chewed someone who made a stupid joke out on his and Tony’s behalf. Normally, Steve doesn’t appreciate others fighting his battles for him, but this time he simply does not have the energy to deal with all this.

He’s been avoiding journalists for almost two weeks now, and that, he thinks, is quite admirable, since they seem to be anywhere he goes. Except on the Helicarrier, of course. And the lair of Acido the Chemicist, an up-and-coming super villain he fought last week, had been amazingly free of journalists as well.

Funny how that goes.

He’s been called away on missions three times in the last two weeks, and each mission lasted at least two days. It was as if the universe were conspiring to keep him away from Tony as much as possible, even though, from an objective point of view, he didn’t miss much. Every time Tony woke up, his vitals went all over the place, so they kept him in an artificially-induced coma until his body was stronger. Today is the first time Steve even sees him awake, since he only just got back from his latest job, and Tony has barely looked at him so far. He still seems a little out of it; weak, listless and strangely nervous. The fingers of his good hand are tightening around the edge of the examination table he’s sitting on while waiting for the doctor to check him over one last time before he can go home.

Something is wrong with him that goes beyond the lingering pain from his injuries. Once again, Steve wonders, helplessly, what those bastards have done to him.

Unfortunately, none of the recent missions had anything to do with finding them. They are still out there, and Steve won’t rest until he found them and took them out. Tony himself was no help so far—he doesn’t seem to remember anything, although the doctor told Steve that he went pale and twitchy whenever he tried to recall anything and his heart rate did things it wasn’t supposed to do.

The memory will probably come back eventually. And someone should be there for Tony when it does.

He hasn’t spoken a single word since Steve got here ten minutes ago. That, more than anything else, speaks of how damaged he is in ways they cannot see. Usually, no matter how hurt Tony is, or how much something affects him, he will at least pretend. Now he’s not even trying and Steve is more worried by the minute.

He should have been here much more than he was, but Tony knows as well as Steve does that in the life they’ve chosen, being there for friends, lovers or family is one of the aspects of their personal lives they have to sacrifice all too often.

But now he’s here, and Tony is trembling before him, almost imperceptibly, and Steve can do something, even if it’s not much, and certainly not enough. He reaches out to place his hand on Tony’s shoulder; it feels thin and almost brittle under his palm, the lean muscles of his arms worn away by captivity and the hospital bed, and when Steve touches him, he freezes. He doesn’t flinch, he just goes very still, and barely breathes, and looks like he thinks moving will make something terrible happen.

Steve feels his mouth twist into an unhappy line, but that’s okay because Tony can’t see it since he’s not looking up. If this was a normal hospital and a lot of people were not convinced that at this point being here would do Tony more harm than good, they probably wouldn’t have let him go this easily.

“You’re going to be home soon,” Steve tells him, trying to sound reassuring. He looks around, wondering where the doctor is, but a low moan brings his attention right back to Tony. “What’s wrong?” he asks, alarmed.

“I don’t know,” Tony whispers, his voice barely there. He slumps forward, pressing his hands against his temples, and groans loudly. “My head,” he gasps. What color was left in his face drains away and his chest heaves with fast, heavy breaths. Steve fears he is going to throw up. Instead, Tony sinks forward, all tension leaving his body at once. Steve barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

 

-

 

“I think it’s Extremis,” Hank says, looking thoughtful. Steve, for his part, looks mostly incredulous.

“You what?”

“It makes sense. There is no physical reason for Tony to have passed out like that,” Hank defends his theory. After a second he amends, “No normal, obvious reason anyway.”

“Extremis is gone.”

“It’s inactive. That’s not the same. And something is definitely going on there. Maybe whatever those people did to Tony woke it up and now he can’t control it. All the electronics surrounding him might have overloaded his consciousness.”

“That’s just a theory.”

“True. But it’s not unlikely, and so far it’s the only one we have.”

Steve looks down at Tony, once again still and unaware on a hospital bed. “So what does that mean? If it really is Extremis, we need to get him away from the electronics until he can control it.”

“Yes. Congratulations: You get to take him home.”

The words take Steve by surprise; usually patients don’t get released from medical care thirty minutes after passing out without warning. But if Hank’s theory is correct, he has to take Tony away from here before he wakes up again.

Hank seems to notice his doubts. “Don’t worry, he’s physically fine. Or not worse than he was before,in any case. He’ll wake up soon, but if anything happens anyway, someone can be there within three minutes.”

“All right,” Steve gives in. He doesn’t really have a good feeling about this, but he wants to take Tony away from here, and if Hank says it’s okay, if the doctors approve, he’s going to do it. Maybe when they are alone, away from all this and in a place where Tony feels safe, he will relax enough to give Steve a chance to figure out what’s wrong with him.

So he carefully gathers Tony in his arms, shifts him until his head is resting against Steve’s shoulder, and carries him out of the room and towards the hangar.

 

-

 

Everything swims into awareness and then Tony finds himself in a bed, staring at the ceiling of a room.

This is his bed, his bedroom in his penthouse in the tower. He doesn’t know why he’s here, hasn’t seen the tower much at all since becoming director of…

No, that’s not right. He’s not director anymore, they gave that position to…

Tony sits up with a start, sudden terror running through him. Osborn is after him and he doesn’t have time to linger here, not in this building, how can he be here, did they get him, get the database…?

He reaches for Extremis and doesn’t find anything. Of course, the virus disabled it and he shudders with the all-too-recent memory of that pain even as he jumps up and out of bed, the pain that shoots up his leg only registering as something that slows him down. He needs his armor, needs–

The virus. Of Skrull origin. Oh God, they have been here all long and he didn’t notice, didn’t see it coming, was too busy hunting down heroes and old friends to notice…

Jarvis is a Skrull. He has been all along and Tony didn’t see it. The horror of the realization makes him feel dizzy. He has to warn everyone, can only hope they will listen–

–and Jarvis gave him a lecture yesterday, like he’s still a little boy, but Jarvis is a Skrull, but Tony doesn’t know that, but he does and it doesn’t make any sense and he falls to the carpet, retching. Nothing comes up.

He feels like shit and everything aches because Cap beat him up; had Vision disable his armor so he could kill him when they met at the mansion who gave him that device it was a trap all along and oh god Bill is dead they should never have let that happen let that abomination happen how could it go so wrong

He must have passed out for a moment. His mind goes blank and when awareness returns he tries to keep it that way, think of nothing. He’s still drenched in sweat, still breathing hard with his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Can’t have been long. Something is wrong with him. Something happened and it’s…

With effort, Tony concentrates only on the here and now. The carpet under his palms as he pushes himself upright. The fading light of dusk filling the room through the large windows. The coolness of the windowpanes. He looks outside and expects to see the city on fire.

Tony swallows drily and struggles to remain upright. He needs to figure out what’s going on, has to find someone who can help him.

The door opens to his touch without resistance; a part of him is surprised, but he refuses to analyze why. Everything is quiet. There is no one around. Maybe the kids are out on a mission, but then why didn’t they take him?

The door to the office is only half-closed, though, and there is light falling through it. As he comes close, Tony can hear the sound of typing, but it’s not Maya he finds when he pushes it open but Steve, staring at the screen of the computer with worry lines etched deep into his face. Tony makes all of two steps into the room, his heart stopping for a second and then doing something painful that makes it hurt to breathe.

Steve is dead. Oh God, he’s dead and it’s Tony’s fault, because and he hates him, maybe he came to talk but why would he now when he was never willing to listen and Tony hopes so much but this is Steve’s office now why wouldn’t he be here and no. No. Steve is dead and everything else doesn’t make sense, happened before, happened a long time ago even if Tony still smells the sweat and the blood and the horrible guilt and triumph after he broke his jaw because Steve is dead and that fact trumps everything, that’s what happened last, that’s what’s final.

Steve is sitting right there. He’s turning around, having noticed he’s not alone, and his damned, beautiful, whole face lights up like he has reason to be happy to see Tony.

“You’re awake,” he acknowledges. And he stands and looms over Tony like he’s going to bring down his shield but he doesn’t carry it and Tony doesn’t understand. “I didn’t… they couldn’t tell me when you’d wake up, and I’m sorry I left you alone, but Sam needed this file ASAP. I was going to come back in a minute.” He takes a step towards Tony and Tony takes a step back and the relief vanishes off Steve’s face as quickly as it came. “Tony, what’s wrong? You look bad, you shouldn’t have gotten up.”

“Who are you?” Tony whispers, his voice struggling through his closing throat.

“Tony?” Alarm and confusion sound in the voice that can only be fake. “I’m Steve. Your—”

“Steve Rogers is dead,” Tony chokes out. “Stop pretending. Stop wearing his face, I know what you a– Ah!” The Steve-thing reaches for Tony and he can’t get out of range in time. His arm is trapped in a vice-like grip that only gets tighter and more painful when he tries to break free and he doesn’t have his armor, doesn’t have anything but his nails and teeth and naked feet. They do little to free him, or kill this thing, or do anything to help anyone and he should have seen this coming, should never have walked into this trap and he can’t breathe. For a while, everything goes white.

Then everything goes black.

 

-

 

When he got involved with Tony Stark, Steve knew he would spend a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms or sitting by the man’s bedside, because Tony has next to no self-preservation instincts and a list of potentially fatal health problems that Steve simply refuses to consider on his better days, for the sake of his own sanity. That doesn’t mean it gets any easier with repetition. By this point, Steve feels worn thin with worry and frustration.

It doesn’t help that no one knows what is actually wrong with Tony, even though Hank and Doc Samson claim to have a theory.

Because Hank’s theory worked so well last time…

At least they didn’t see the need to take Tony anywhere else, but left him in his bedroom. They kicked Steve out while they checked him over, though, and even after he came to, Steve wasn’t allowed in there. Samson wanted to talk to him alone, leaving Steve pacing the corridor and snapping at Hank whenever Hank feels the need to point out that, for all they can tell, Tony is all right.

Tony has always had a somewhat loose definition of “all right”, but even for him, this is pushing it.

Eventually, the door to the bedroom opens and Samson emerges. Steve doesn’t even feel like asking what he’s been discussing with Tony. He tries to brush past the man and into the room, but Samson blocks his way.

“I gave Tony a sedative. He’s asleep.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Steve snaps, and for the sake of the argument makes an effort to snap quietly.

But Samson shakes his head. “I need to talk to you,” he says in a way Steve doesn’t like at all.

 

-

 

They end up talking in the living area, far away from Tony. It would be better than pacing the corridor, but Steve is still pacing, unable to sit still.

“You think he remembers everything?” he asks for the second time. “I thought it was deleted. Lost forever.”

“No data is ever lost forever,” Hank points out. He looks uncomfortable. “If you know where to look, you can reconstruct deleted data from basically any wiped hard drive.”

Steve glares at him. “Tony’s mind is not a hard drive.”

Hank looks even more uncomfortable, but insists on his point. “For all intents and purposes, it is. Or was, when he deleted it. Whatever these people did to him, they have found a way to dig up the deleted files, so to speak.”

“Are you sure?” Steve turns to Samson, his stomach turning with apprehension.

“Yes. He remembers a lot of things he didn’t know before. His memories are definitely back.” Samson doesn’t look like that is a good thing. He looks grim.

Steve stops in his pacing, thinking back to the way Tony had fought him and insisted he was dead. Before he realises what he is doing, he unconsciously pulls the sleeves of his shirt down to hide the already-healing scratches and bite marks Tony left on his arm before he went limp.

Samson notices the gesture; of course he does. “Has he forgotten everything after wiping his memory now?” Steve asks before anyone can say anything. “He thought I was still dead.”

“No, I think he remembers. He’s just overwhelmed. From what I can tell…”

“What?” Steve snaps when Samson trails off.

“From what I can tell, he remembers everything like it only just happened. Everything, you understand? There is not just the grief over your death that is fresh, there’s everything else as well. The emotions simply overwhelmed him, and until he’s worked through that onslaught, that’ll happen again.” Samson leans forward, his green hair falling into his face as he looks up at Steve from his position on the couch. “For the moment, I managed to calm him down with medication, but we can’t leave him drugged forever. And Steve…” The psychologist sighs. “This is going to take time.”

“Something tells me you’re not talking about a week here.”

“No, I’m not. Tony’s memory is a mess. Instead of not remembering anything, he remembers too much, too intensely. He’s feeling the emotional fallout of everything that happened in the time formerly deleted all at once, and… well, very little of what happened then was actually good.”

That is a kind way to put it. Steve wasn’t the only loss Tony suffered in that time, and that’s not even touching all the guilt and self-loathing he felt over what he did during their Civil War. That Tony thought he had to do certain things doesn’t mean he actually wanted to do them. Steve understood that long ago.

Tony has always been fragile, psychologically. He’s battled depression and self-hatred to the point of being downright suicidal for as long as Steve has known him, and the time when they were fighting each other, Steve’s death and everything that came after have been an all-time low for him. Things got so bad that Tony thought deleting his own mind until he forgot how to breathe was a good idea. Steve cannot imagine how it must feel to have all that crash down on him at once, but yeah, he gets that it is bad.

“What can we do?” he asks. It’s the one question that matters right now. There is a problem, and he needs to know what actions he can take to make it go away.

“I’m afraid there is not much you can do, Steve,” Samson tells him. “Except hold his hand and give him something to hold on to until the storm has passed.”

He says it with regret, but Steve only nods. Hold Tony’s hand, keep him stable. He can do that. After all these years, he has finally figured out how.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve was wrong: he can’t do it. Whatever he had imagined, even having _seen_ Tony lose all hold on the here and now before, it’s worse than he thought, and he can’t be there for Tony—can’t even hold his hand. Because Tony won’t let him.

Because Steve being there only makes things worse.

Tony is bad enough as it is; when he’s awake and not drugged, he’s twitchy, nervous, prone to suddenly breaking down crying when one thought leads to another and to a random memory of someone who died or something that got broken beyond repair. He is like a raw nerve, and it’s painful to watch as he struggles to keep a hold on something, _anything,_ as facts and knowledge and feelings just pile up on top of one another and crush him.

But when Steve is there, it’s worse. There is so much that happened between them in the time Tony lost and none of it good, but it’s Steve’s death that’s most prominent in Tony’s mind. Or maybe it’s just what makes it impossible for Tony to anchor himself with anything when the tide threatens to sweep him away. After a few days of watching Tony, Steve knows without a doubt that Samson is right: He remembers everything at once, but without any order to the memories. Everything gets confused and mingled together, which is what makes it so hard for Tony to come to terms with everything and file it away as something that is past and passed. He can manage, sometimes: when the memories of their fighting overwhelm him, or of the invasion, he can tell, intellectually if not emotionally, that it happened long ago, since the city is not currently in ruins. Jarvis is not a Skrull, so finding out he was one and getting back the real Jarvis happened before. It’s still hard and it’s not always enough, but eventually, Tony will get it all figured out, Samson is sure.

Except for Steve. Every time Steve comes in, every time he tries to help ends with Tony having a panic attack, or passing out from emotional overload, and on one memorable occasion having a seizure. If he’s not convinced that Steve is a Skrull, he thinks he’s a hallucination caused by Extremis and guilt or that he’s simply going insane. Or he’s just lost and confused and nothing makes sense, to the point where Tony tries to hurt himself just to have something to focus on and make it stop.

Sometimes Steve finds himself wondering if he really died, after all, and this is some kind of personal Hell. Because the only thing that’s worse than watching the person he loves most in the world suffer and not being able to help him is that he’s actually making it worse.

“The problem is that he remembers you dying, and it’s pretty easy to place that at the chronological end of his memories of you,” Samson explains one evening while Tony is lost in drugged nightmares at the other end of the penthouse. “Seeing you real and alive tells him that even what little sense he made of the world is all wrong. Nothing makes sense when you’re around because you’re dead but you’re not.”

“I’m not.” Steve runs a hand though his hair, resisting the urge to pull it in frustration. “Tony knows that. He remembers me coming back, why doesn’t that count?”

“Because he doesn’t remember it. He was in a coma when you returned.”

“Yeah, but he woke up. And his memories of what came after are still intact.”

“True. But you need to consider that the more recent memories are being swallowed because time had the chance to take the edge off anything that happened since Tony’s reboot, whereas everything before that is new and raw like it only just happened. And you coming back happened at the worst possible time: Tony deleted his brain knowing you were dead, and when he woke up you were already back without him finding that remarkable because he didn’t know you’d been gone in the first place. So instead of having a moment of ’Oh my God, Steve is back from the dead!’ magnitude, he merely had a moment of “Hey, I just found out that Steve used to be dead but evidently he no longer is,’ which doesn’t have quite the same emotional impact.”

It’s hard not to put his hand through the wall in frustration, because Steve has to accept that Samson is right. Tony can’t handle him right now, and Steve dreads the answer to the question he has to ask. “So what can I do?”

“You have to stay away,” Samson says with an air of finality that tells Steve this is exactly what he wanted to talk to him about today. “For the time being. Until Tony has sorted this out. I’m sorry.”

Steve can’t even bring himself to acknowledge the empty platitude.

 

-

 

It’s Steve who moves out, since he has friends he can stay with while Tony doesn’t really have anything right now. Nothing but these rooms, which should have been his anyway but aren’t anymore, not really. Steve’s not even sure if he still has the place in Seattle, near the Resilient HQ, but that doesn’t matter anyway because Seattle is too far away. Steve may not be allowed to be with him, but he’s damn sure going to be there if anything happens.

Like the guys who caused this coming back for Tony. It’s unlikely, considering the way they discarded him after use like something that had lost all worth to them, but Steve will feel better once they are caught and taken out. Because they are evidently dangerous, and because he really, really wants to punch them a lot.

At least things are moving in that regard. Neither SHIELD nor Steve’s fellow Avengers have any leads on where they disappeared to yet, but they are looking, really looking and making an effort for once. They did before, but not nearly as hard as they should have. Everyone was busy with more immediate threats and momentarily satisfied with letting Tony’s attackers run free since there was no trace of them and no place to start searching. For all they knew then, those people had just wanted torture Tony Stark a bit and were no further threat to anyone. Since it became known that they might have gotten a hold of the registration database and other things that have been stored in Tony’s mind, everyone is suddenly a lot more invested in finding them.

At least now that he has no reason to stay home anymore, Steve can do more to help in that regard. He’s been itching to, but didn’t have the time to spare when fixing Tony was more important than finding the men who broke him.

Right now, Tony is sedated and asleep, so Steve takes the liberty of saying goodbye in person. But when he enters the bedroom, Tony isn’t alone, and if there had been anything Steve wanted to say, he can’t now. Not that Tony would have heard him. It would have been solely for Steve’s own benefit. It doesn’t matter.

Tony’s face is ashen, his long black lashes a stark contrast against his pale cheeks. Steve looks down at him and it hurts.

They used to share this bed. Steve used to hold Tony close here; when Steve woke from a nightmare, Tony would be there with a comforting hand against his cheek. This is where they made love for the first time, months ago. They were happy here, safe.

Now a young woman sits on the edge of the bed, taking Tony’s pulse and writing something down in a notebook. Steve doesn’t know her name, but he recognizes her: She’s a nurse who already worked in this tower when most of it was still occupied by Stark Industries. If she returned to this workplace out of nostalgia, or loyalty, or if she was one of those who threw empty bottles at Tony when everything went to hell, Steve doesn’t know. (If she was, Tony remembers that now.)

She greets Steve with a nod but doesn’t say anything. Steve thinks about asking how Tony is doing, but takes her silence as a warning to be quiet. He doesn’t know how long it will be until he gets to see Tony in person again, and he doesn’t want him losing it over Steve’s presence to be the last image to carry with him.

Tony being pale and thin and tossing weakly in restless sleep is bad enough.

In the end Steve doesn’t even stay a minute. He goes back to the room he’s been sleeping in since Tony’s return, grabs his bag, and when the doors to the elevator open, he runs into James Rhodes.

It’s more than a little unexpected. On Samson’s advice, basically all of Tony’s friends stay away from him since the psychologist is of the opinion that seeing them will only confuse Tony further, and for a second, Steve wants to snap at Rhodes if he didn’t get the memo.

Rhodes, on the other hand, doesn’t seem surprised at all to see Steve with his bag packed and obviously about to leave for an extended period of time.

“Samson asked you to take over while I’m gone,” Steve says instead of a greeting when realization hits him. It’s followed by a flash of anger that apparently Rhodes knew what his presence was doing to Tony before Steve himself did.

“Yes, but I was on my way here anyway,” Rhodes replies. He’s in civilian clothes, something Steve has rarely seen on him. Usually, the few times they met, Tony’s friend was either in his military uniform or—more often—in the War Machine armor.

Or the Iron Man armor, back in the day when Steve didn’t know who was wearing it, only that it wasn’t Tony.

“Why?” Steve frowns. Maybe Rhodes didn’t get the memo after all.

Rhodes frowns right back at him. “Why are _you_ here?”

“I would think that by now the entire world knows why I’m here.” Steve tries not to snap. This man hasn’t actually done anything to him. It’s not his fault that he’s allowed to be with Tony and Steve isn’t, and he didn’t leak the news about Steve and Tony’s relationship to the press.

“Yeah, about that.” Rhodes walks into the penthouse and since apparently their conversation is still going on, Steve has no choice but to follow. Tony’s friend is aiming for the couch, where he drops his bag. He seems to be prepared for a longer stay, just as Steve is prepared for a longer absence. “I’d take the back door if I were you. I think some of the journalists are camping in front of the entrance. If I were you, I’d charge rent.”

The noise Steve makes in reply is something between a sigh and a groan. It seems the day just keeps getting worse and worse and worse.

“I don’t understand why they are so invested in our private life. There are more interesting things to write about.”

“Seriously? Right now, there aren’t. More important, surely. But the general population doesn’t care about important. They want something to bring entertainment to their lives, and right now you and Tony are providing that.”

It’s not what Steve wanted to hear, and the fact that he knows it’s true doesn’t change that. It’s hard not to resent Rhodes for being able to talk about this, about everything, as if it weren’t a problem at all, as if it didn’t concern him. But then, it doesn’t. Tony’s condition is the problem of Steve and Tony, of the Avengers because Tony is out of commission for the time being, and of the guys from Resilient because they won’t be able to fall back on Tony’s help right now. The public interest that followed Steve’s accidental reveal of their relationship is Steve’s problem, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let anyone make it Tony’s problem as well. At any other time, he would have been glad to let his lover handle the press and publicity work, but now, all this is a kind of stress Tony doesn’t need and can’t handle.

So it comes as a surprise, but a pleasant one, when Rhodes suddenly turns to face him and says, “They’ve been trying to get into the tower and get a personal statement from either of you for days, and I swear, if I find you allowed them to come anywhere near Tony in his condition, I’ll be coming after you in the armor.”

Steve can appreciate that, actually. “No one came even close to the penthouse without personal invitation.” Not counting those who have a personal override code for the elevator and door locks, like Rhodes does. Reporters don’t get those.

Rhodes seems to be satisfied with the answer, but he still looks at Steve with the frown between his brows, thoughtful and a little calculating. It occurs to Steve that he doesn’t even know if Rhodes knew about him and Tony before the press found out but assumes he did. It seems like the kind of thing one would tell one’s best friend.

But then, this is Tony, who tends to inform his friends about any subject on a need-to-know basis.

“I have to say, I’m a little surprised it even came to this.” Rhodes says as he’s flopping on the couch. His eyes settle on the corridor that leads to Tony’s bedroom but for the moment he doesn’t seem to have a desire to see his friend. Or maybe talking to Steve comes first. “I’d have thought you would have let the world know by now, probably with a press release where Tony is involved, or with a passionate speech about equal rights or whatever. This is exactly the thing you’d make a statement with, isn’t it? And what’s happening now is exactly the kind of public relations nightmare Tony likes to avoid. And this thing with you has been going on long enough if I got that right.”

“For one,” Steve begins, briskly, “I don’t like using my personal life to make political statements. And besides that, we talked about it. And we were going to let the world know—or at least stop hiding it, because this isn’t the kind of thing that deserves an official statement. It’s just two people being in love. But we both knew how the press would react and the time was never right so far. There were always more important things to worry about, or more important news we didn’t want to give the media a chance to sideline.”

Rhodes nods thoughtfully, his gaze still resting on the door, or maybe far away. “I call bullshit.”

Steve glares at him, “Excuse me?”

“You usually know what you’re doing, right? Both of you. I mean, you live in this world and age and all. So you know that there will never be a good time for something like that, and waiting for it is an excuse. Now, I know Tony and I can list five reasons off the top of my head why he would hesitate to come out to the public as being in a relationship with Captain America. But you? Don’t you think that keeping it secret is giving the wrong message? Like it’s something to be ashamed of? Because I don’t know if you have watched the reports about you lately…”

Steve almost winches. No, he hasn’t watched the reports, has deliberately avoided them. They are a problem he didn’t want to face while Tony losing his mind was the more pressing concern, but he knows that since now he no longer has Tony to focus on (because he’s not _allowed_ anymore) he has to face the music. There is Avengers business to take care of and Tony’s attackers to hunt down, but he cannot use that as an excuse in the long run. Because Rhodes is right, it _would_ be an excuse in that case.

Which doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t have valid reasons for not coming out so far, one of them being that he doesn’t like his personal life and relationships to be treated by the media like anyone but him and his partner have any say in it. He could tell Rhodes that, but doesn’t really feel like having this discussion. He just wants to leave while he still can.

“What five reasons would those be?” he asks instead. “Because I can only think of two.”

Finally, the other man looks at him, and it’s that calculating gaze again. “Which ones would they be?”

“Not giving our enemies anything else they can use against us, and the business related stuff. Stock prices, business contracts, the kind. He’s responsible for his company, after all, and can’t ignore things like that.”

“Sounds good. Like an official statement you’d give at a press conference. Or rather like an official statement _Tony_ would give at a press conference. Except for the company stuff, of course, considering he doesn’t currently run any.”

Steve knows that, of course; he ignored that bit because Tony was still running Resilient himself when they got together, and because he’ll get back into business—officially—eventually. Tony Stark and running businesses go together in Steve’s mind. Tony’s never been able to stay away from it for long.

Regardless of that, Steve is aware that what he said sounded like the kind of shallow reasoning Tony would give someone he doesn’t want to reveal anything more personal to, and yes, Steve knows it goes deeper than that, but he never asked. Never felt the need to discuss this with Tony when they were both satisfied with the way things were.

Looking back, that might have been a mistake. Maybe he’s been shying away from answers he didn’t want to hear, or from analyzing his own motivations. Going into battle with the Red Skull is easier, after all.

Getting the answers he dreads from Tony’s friend rather than Tony himself wouldn’t be any better; especially since Rhodes seems to think Steve isn’t serious enough about this relationship anyway. Still he asks. “Your turn. Three reasons you think I missed.”

Rhodes snorts but nods. “Very well. Protecting your reputation, not knowing how long it’ll last, his father. And that’s as far as I’m willing to discuss my best friend’s emotional issues with his boyfriend.”

And it’s not much, either. Steve would like to point out that neither he nor his reputation needs any protection from his own decisions, that Tony’s father is dead and that Tony seemed happy enough with their relationship so why would he prepare for its end? But one of those arguments is silly and the other two he’ll have to take up with Tony when he gets the chance. Rhodes is right. It’s not really their place to discuss this without Tony being even in the room.

“I agree,” he therefore says, shouldering his bag. “I’m late anyway. Call…” He hesitates for a moment and hopes Rhodes isn’t going to be an asshole about this. “Call me if anything happens.”

After a second, Rhodes nods. “Will do.”

And that is that. Steve turns and finally leaves the place he shared with his lover for the last couple of months, and Rhodes is left behind sitting on the couch, his arms resting on his knees and facing the bedroom as if he’s preparing for a mission.

 

-

 

James Rhodes has seen Tony Stark in all kinds of states, most of them bad. He’s seen him unconscious, drugged, mind-controlled, drunk, brain dead, depressed, bleeding out, sick… Almost all of those unfortunate experiences, Tony has brought on himself, and some he even deserved. Yet, it was never fun to see him that way, because even if things didn’t always run smoothly between them, he’s still Jim’s best friend and Jim will always love him. But he also kind of got used to the sight. Unless it’s something particularly catastrophic or Tony is legitimately dying, it’s hard for him to feel as shocked, or even as sympathetic, as he should. Which is probably a good thing; otherwise he would never stop drowning in sympathy long enough to live his own life.

But his own life has been put on hold for the moment (again) anyway and for all that he is physically more or less okay (as in, he’s not actively dying), Tony has rarely ever looked as bad as he does when he enters the room where Jim is waiting for him.

He’s walking with a cane because his broken ankle hasn’t healed yet and his right arm is in a sling, but Jim barely notices that. He’s seen that before often enough, just as he has often seen his friend pale and thin, with dark shadows around his eyes like bruises and sunken-in cheeks. If anyone asked him, he wouldn’t even be able to say why this time the sight turns something in his stomach and makes him feel almost painfully concerned and strangely sad.

It’s the way Tony is holding himself as he’s limping in, he thinks. Shoulders hunched ever-so-slightly, tense and wary and almost shy as he slowly enters the room. He acknowledges Jim’s presence but never looks at him directly. Defenseless is the word Jim’s mind provides. Tony looks helpless and utterly vulnerable and insecure and all the ways Tony Stark should never look.

At least he’s dressed properly, in jeans and a sweater, and his hair is orderly. When Jim saw him before, just after arriving last evening, he was still asleep, ruffled and unshaven and dressed in an oversized t-shirt that made him look even more fragile. He hadn’t woken up then, and now Jim feels the dread raise its ugly head again and mingle with the other things he doesn’t want to feel.

He’s been dreading this moment because he doesn’t know how Tony will react to him. He hasn’t even been able to stand the presence of Captain-freaking-America, and regardless of how Jim feels about it, Tony loves that man, has for ages, and yet he couldn’t look at him without freaking out. Jim doesn’t know what he’ll do if Tony freaks out because of him as well; if his presence does him more harm than good.

He never wants to hurt this man, even if sometimes he wants to punch him in the face,

So when Tony gives a vague nod in his direction and says, “Hey, Jim,” he breathes an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Tony,” he says, and he wants to say more but doesn’t want to set Tony off, to trigger something. Dr. Samson follows Tony into the room and leads him to the couch, where Tony sits down with his arms wrapped around himself, his head down. He looks so exhausted.

Jim knows Tony is drugged, that Samson gave him a sedative to help him keep calm and not think too much, and yet Tony is shaking, and he’s sitting there like he doesn’t care that they can see his weakness and it’s just plain wrong. Jim doesn’t want to see him like this. After everything that happened, everything Tony has been through and put them through lately, Jim wants to see him strong. Like he can make it on his own.

This isn’t about what Jim wants.

This was all Samson’s idea and Jim isn’t going to argue with the man. At least not yet. He’s going to argue when Samson has an idea that won’t work for Tony because Tony is a dick who has to make things as difficult as they can be for everyone.

Now Tony is sitting there and keeping himself together, if barely. Okay, this could be worse. He lets Jim be there for him. He lets Jim be there.

He even lies down when Samson gently tells him to. Jim wonders how, for all the shit Tony’s been through and all his issues, this might be the first time he’s getting professional help.

Tony closes his eyes even before he’s told to. Samson thinks it’ll help not to see anything that will get him to remember things or distract him from what he is supposed to focus on. Even so, Tony is far too tense and Jim can see how he is struggling to remain calm and not _think_ , something that is almost impossible for someone like him. He’s clasping his own hands over his chest, one gripping the other so hard his knuckles are white , and for a while he’s breathing so hard he’s almost hyperventilating. Samson waits patiently until he’s calmed down, until whatever this was has passed, while Jim shifts restlessly in his seat.

It’s easy enough. Or rather, it’s simple enough. Jim could have thought of it himself if he’d allowed himself to think about it long enough. Tony’s memory is a mess, everything’s there but there’s no order to it. The accuracy, the raw freshness of everything is an issue for another day. For now they will concentrate on helping Tony to get everything in order, so he has even a chance to work through it and move on.

Technically, Tony could get things in the right order himself. He should be able to logically conclude that some things need to have happened before or after other things, but as long as everything crashes down on him at once, he doesn’t stand a chance to even try. He needs someone to guide him through it.

What Tony had lost after wiping his mind was everything since infecting himself with the Extremis virus, so that’s where they start. Samson doesn’t do much except give Tony a starting point and help him focus as he has him tell them what happens next, and after that, and after that, providing a line to hold on to. Jim doesn’t do anything at all but sit there listening to Tony’s quiet, shaky voice and feel like an intruder.

It’s not even like they are breaching Tony’s privacy much. Most of the things Tony tells them Jim, at least, already knows because he’s been there or heard about it, and Tony doesn’t get into his personal feelings much. Samson, mercifully, doesn’t ask, even when Tony falls still for a moment and throws an arm over his face as some emotion or other overwhelms him. This is not about Tony’s feelings, it’s about creating a timeline for him. What he felt at one point or another—what he _feels_ as he’s moving through his own history in fast forward—is a side effect of the process and nothing they have to concern themselves with right now.

Jim watches his friend curl up into a shaking ball an hour or two later and doesn’t dare to touch him for fear he’ll shatter.

Samson calls it quits after that. It’s clearly all Tony can take for the time being. They didn’t even get far. Shit happened in Tony’s life and they have to cover all of it, not just the things that made the news. With Tony working through the emotions connected to the specific memories, this is going to take a long time.

Today, Tony made it until that time when some punk kid hijacked his brain and made him kill people. He lost it around the time he came back to his senses only to see two guys fall down to Earth after Iron Man dropped them from the stratosphere. Even worse than that is the realization that followed that if he killed these people without remembering it, then he’s also responsible for the hundreds of men, women and children who died when that plane was destroyed. It’s not like he says so, specifically, but Jim can tell from the bits he chokes out between sobs and from knowing Tony. (He wants to go over there and tell his friend that he’s wrong, that having been used to do it and being responsible are not the same thing in this case, but he doesn’t dare make any sound at all.)

Samson leaves for a while and maybe Jim should, too. Leave Tony some privacy while he’s falling apart, since that’s something Tony prefers to do in private. He doesn’t think it would be a good idea, though. More so, it feels wrong to walk out on his friend now.

He fells utterly useless and helpless, though: just sitting there on the sofa, watching Tony lost in some horrible moment, unable to bring himself to do anything. And what _could_ he do? It’s like he’s not even here, because during the moment Tony is reliving he wasn’t there so he doesn’t matter now. Interrupting whatever is happening in Tony’s mind would probably only make it worse, throw in other memories or just confuse him and destroy their progress or something. So Jim is left feeling like a ghost, damned to watch but not interact. Or maybe like a time traveler, going to the past to watch disaster unfold without being able to stop it.

Or like a time-travelling ghost. That probably comes closest.

Eventually, Tony falls still and Jim finally dares to get up and walk over to the couch, certain he’s worn himself out and fallen asleep. Tony is lying with his back to the room; Jim can see the outline of his spine through the thin fabric of the sweater. Tony’s hands are clasped before his chest again, and as he leans over him, Jim can see he’s not asleep at all but staring straight ahead at nothing, and there is a controlled quality to his breathing. He’s trying. At least there’s that.

Then Jim notices something else, and that is how Tony’s good hand is holding his broken one in a white-knuckled grip. And, sure, that hand is splinted, but not encased in a hard shell everywhere. There are enough soft spots for Tony to dig his fingers into. Focusing on the pain to get through this. Jim gets that, he does, but still his first reaction is to reach out, thoughtlessly, and take hold of Tony’s hands, trying to pry them apart. “No, no. Tony,” he says. “Stop that. It’s okay.”

Tony flinches and then kind of flips out at him. Jim should have expected that. He holds his struggling friend for what feels like an hour but is probably three minutes, and then Samson shows up with a syringe that knocks Tony out cold in thirty seconds.

“That actually went well,” the doctor states after Jim has carried Tony back to his room and tucked him in on his side of the large double bed. “Tomorrow we’ll try again.”

 

-

 

They do it again the next day, and the next, getting a little further down the timeline every day. It sometimes makes Jim feel surprised, or even a little sick, to realize just how much of what was going on in Tony’s life he actually missed. Of course there was shit going on in his own life that Tony never had any clue was happening, what with them not being married or joined at the hip and all, but looking back he still wishes he could have been there for some of it and wonders if there was anything he did wrong, if he let old resentments get in his way, if there was anything he doesn’t have an excuse for not doing.

But it’s too late to change anything in any case. It’s not like he can wrench himself into Tony’s memories after the fact.

They reach the point where Tony was dealing with the SHRA and facing ugly decisions while no one else yet had any idea how bad it would get. He doesn’t say much about that, about the options he was pondering and how much the realization of which way he had to choose to get the least catastrophic outcome tore him up, but he falls silent at that point, lost in his own mind. He swallows a lot, hiding his face beneath his arms with his hands balled into fists, even the broken one. Then he has a seizure and passes out. Even Samson has a hard time calling that much of a success.

Jim isn’t entirely sure that Tony’s decisions during the SHRA debacle were always the right ones, that the other options were always as inevitably worse as Tony was convinced they were, but he will never regret having stood by his friend through that particular mess.

Watching him fall apart over it again, Jim can’t help but wonder how often before he did that when no one was looking. Despite having been almost constantly surrounded by people, Tony spent an awful lot of that time alone. Just like right now he has to deal with it alone. Samson is sure that it wasn’t just this episode that made Tony seize and pass out, but that he lost focus there and was taken over by too many other memories and disconnected emotions. Either way, it’s clear that this part of Tony’s memories is going to be a bitch to get through. And it won’t get any better, Jim suddenly realizes as he stands in the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee with hands that are shaking with adrenaline and worry. They only just reached the beginning of a phase of Tony’s life that is going to culminate with him deciding that deleting his brain and effectively committing suicide is a good idea.

Jim spends the night tossing restlessly on the sheets of his bed in the guest room, but then, that’s what he has done every night since coming here. The tension that comes from not knowing when things will go terribly wrong and when he will somehow do something that will mess Tony up even worse doesn’t help. It never really went away even after days of Tony not losing it over him. That so far, Tony has failed to actually interact with him or look him in the eyes doesn’t help at all.

The next day there is no official session. Tony isn’t doing well enough for that. He can’t focus enough to even start concentrating on one memory at a time and they don’t try because he’s fallen sick and in really no state to do anything. So Tony spends of the day mostly-sedated and throwing up whatever liquid food they manage to get into him and Jim spends his time fretting and trying not to feel terrible when Tony hides under the blankets and covers his ears and still flinches whenever Jim comes anywhere near him.

The day after, Tony sleeps off his fever and Jim stays away, leaving it to the nurse to care for his friend. Between surfing the internet—he doesn’t dare to turn on the news on TV for fear of Tony walking in—he calls Pepper to tell her how Tony is doing and to get updated on things he missed being holed up here. Later he thinks about calling Rogers but before he’s made up his mind whether or not to do that, his cell rings and look at that, the guy at the other end of the line identifies as Steve Rogers.

“I was just thinking about you,” Jim informs him. “Just found this article on the internet in which the author wonders if you and Tony disappeared since the reveal about your relationship because you’re afraid, or ashamed, or because it caused a rift between you and you broke up.”

There is a groan that tells Jim all he needed to know: Rogers hasn’t done much by way of getting on top of that mess since he left here. “The photo that outed us was taken when they loaded Tony into an ambulance. Doesn’t anyone consider that we might not be out in public because he’s hurt?”

“Nope,” Jim says lightly. “There hasn’t been anything official about that but Pepper playing it down when asked for a statement, so they assume that it’s not so bad. Besides, it’s not as entertaining as the other possibilities.”

There’s a moment of silence in which Jim can basically sense Rogers fuming. For all that he is a poster boy for freedom of speech, Captain America and the free press will probably never become friends.

“Well, it’s nice to know that Tony Stark being badly injured is not _entertaining_ enough,” he finally bites out, and Jim can’t help but silently agree. Then Rogers turns to business. “Is there any news? How is he?”

He sounds genuinely concerned and hopeful. Jim sighs. “We’re probably making progress. It’s hard to tell at this point, but Samson’s doing a good job of untangling Tony’s memories. How much that helps in the end remains to be seen until we’re done with it, but it should help him to make sense of everything and work through it.” Maybe he should mention Tony’s sickness, but he’s getting better already and Tony being sick is not, strictly speaking, news.

And telling Rogers of the seizures… well, Jim is not quite that petty.

“Good. That’s good,” Rogers says as if he’s trying to convince himself of it. “Thank you.”

“So how are things going on your side? I’m assuming someone would have told me by now if you had found the guys who did this and roasted them over a fire, right?” It never hurts to make sure.

“We have a lead, but we’re not sure it goes anywhere.” Rogers sounds frustrated in a way that causes Jim to suspect that they have had a few leads and none of them went anywhere.

“They’re a bunch of thugs operating from a basement,” Jim snaps. “How hard can it be to find them? Have Wolverine sniff their trail or something.”

“They didn’t leave any trail outside the building we found them in, might have used teleportation technology. Even Wolverine’s sense of smell can’t find them _anywhere on the globe_. Or on the moon.”

“So they have technology. Pretty advanced technology. Something like that always leaves traces. Tony could—”

“Tony could scan for them, yeah.”

“Not only Tony.”

“Listen, James, do you think we sit here all day twiddling our thumbs? We’re trying everything. A lot of people tried. It would be easier if we had Tony working on it, but with luck this’ll be over before he’s well enough to help.”

“Luck isn’t going to help you here.” Jim takes a deep breath. Anger isn’t going to help here either. He isn’t even angry at Rogers, not really. He’s frustrated because he’s stuck here and can’t do much to help find those assholes who hurt his friend, except have War Machine’s systems check the building for intruders nonstop and be there in case the guys come back for Tony.

And he suspects Rogers isn’t really angry with him either. He’s angry at the fact that Jim gets to be here and he doesn’t. Snapping at each other isn’t going to change that.

“Just promise you’ll let me know if you make progress. Or if you need armored help,” Jim finishes a lot calmer, even if it takes effort, and Rogers promises in the same tone that he will and asks Jim to do the same.

They hang up and Jim is left pondering how when Steve Rogers entered this relationship, he entered that club of people whose life and emotions circle around Tony Stark. And the emotions they get out of it are mostly pain, anger, worry, and fear for their lives. Really, why is anyone even friends with the guy?

Why would Jim still kill himself for Tony without hesitation after all the man has put him through?

It’s a silly thought, of course. Jim knows why. Maybe even better than Pepper, who just knows that she keeps coming back.

The question is, of course, if Rogers will come back. Not now, because this is not Tony’s fault. Not even a little. (Unless it turns out that he went with those people willingly and said “Please beat me up and fuck with my mind,” in which case Jim will simply murder him.) But eventually Tony will inevitably and well-meaningly fuck Rogers over, and then he’ll do it again, and eventually it’s going to be too much. Pretty quickly, probably. Last time they clashed it ended in a Civil War, and they weren’t even together then.

Last time was horrible enough for Tony. Now they are lovers, and Jim doesn’t doubt for a second that Tony really loves Steve. It’s been obvious for years, and the last couple of months, Tony has displayed the kind of tense radiance that comes from being incredibly happy and convinced it won’t last. The longer this thing with Rogers goes on, the more Tony settles into the relationship, the worse the inevitable fallout will be. Last time, fighting Rogers nearly destroyed him. This time it will.

And Jim is going to be damned if he’ll just stand by and let that happen. Thing is, he doesn’t know what to do about it. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, that thing has been going on in one way or another since the beginning of time. Jim wasn’t even surprised to hear it’s now actually something sexual. But it’s also a disaster waiting to happen and Tony has never had any self-preservation instincts when it came to people he loved. Even Jim has done, in anger, a few things he’s not proud of, and he knows Tony is simply incapable of holding a grudge. Hell, the guy offered jobs to people who tried to kill him because he felt sympathetic to their situations. He’s something else, and he’s the only one Jim can’t protect him from.

He’s distracted by the nurse shuffling through the room on her way out. There’s nothing worth mentioning, she says. Tony is asleep. He’ll feel better when he wakes up. Physically, at least.

Jim kind of dreads having to face him without Samson being there, without an excuse to fade into the background. But Samson isn’t here, won’t come back before tomorrow, and there’s a reason why they asked him to come, and why he agreed.

So he goes and opens the door a little bit so he’ll know if Tony needs him.

 

-

 

Tony doesn’t make a noise the rest of the evening. Jim checks in on him once, but Tony is fast asleep and Jim is careful not to wake him, even though getting food into that thin body would probably be a good idea. He goes to bed himself not much later, after checking his armor to see if it recorded anything worth noting. Nothing. Predictably.

As much as Jim would hate for Tony’s kidnappers to come anywhere near him again, a part of him wishes they would make the mistake of showing up here so he could blast them to kingdom come and give everyone one less problem to worry about.

The next morning he wakes up, surprisingly well rested after a good night’s sleep, and realizes that apart from his phone calls the day before, he hasn’t really talked to anyone in days.

It’s ridiculously early, but tired as we was, Jim barely stayed awake until ten. He makes his way through the large, silent penthouse to the kitchen, where he finds Tony fiddling with the coffee machine.

It shouldn’t be a shock: a man, standing in his kitchen making coffee, but it is. This is the first time in days—weeks, really—that Tony has moved around while left on his own, rather than curling into a ball trying not to freak out.

Now he’s standing there, his back turned to Jim, and he tenses up when he notices he’s not alone, and stills, but doesn’t turn around.

“Hey Boss,” Jim greets him, because really, what is he supposed to say?

He feels like he’s talking to a ghost.

But when Tony turns around, he’s very solid and real. And white as paper with messy hair and dressed in an oversized t-shirt Jim realizes with a pang probably belongs to Rogers. It’s half-slipped off his shoulder, revealing the fading bruises on his collarbone.

There’s a cup in Tony’s shaking hand, but it’s still empty. After a moment, Tony awkwardly places it on the counter next to him.

What he says “Rhodey,” it sounds a little choked.

“Yeah, me. How do y—” Jim stops talking when Tony comes over to him, _looking_ at him for the first time ever and seeming both mesmerized and helpless. Suddenly his hand is on Jim’s cheek and feeling the warmth and the softness of his skin, Jim only thinks how he hasn’t shaved yet and his face is full of stubble.

For a moment, Tony looks lost. Then a million emotions seem to run over his face at once and for a long minute he looks like he’s going to cry (at which point Jim would simply have given up; he’s never developed any defenses against that). In the end, he takes his hand away and offers a shaky smile. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s stupid, I know. You’re… okay. Aren’t you?”

So maybe Jim is going to give up after all. “Yeah, I’m great. All fixed, remember?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s smile gets a little brighter. He actually looks relieved for a second, and his eyes are brimming with tears again. “You didn’t…” He falters, and looks down. “Hill,” he starts, makes a choked sound deep in his throat and looks down to mutter something that sounds like, “Make it look real.”

“What?” Jim asks, stupidly. There’s no answer, of course. There’s just Tony raising his hand and looking at it as if he were holding something. “I can’t, can’t,” he stammers, and then Jim pulls him close and holds him, even if it probably doesn’t help.

Tony is a little smaller than him. Not much—Jim doesn’t usually notice, and when armors are involved it doesn’t matter anyway, but there’s a height difference between them that is just so that Tony’s bent head fits perfectly into the crook of Jim’s neck.

They stand like that for a while, with Jim stroking Tony’s back and Tony trembling in his arms but not flipping out. Eventually, after a long time, he slumps even more and goes very still. “I want a drink,” he mumbles.

“I know.” Jim gives him one last pat, suddenly feeling awkward, and when they separate, he’s not sure if he stepped back or if Tony pulled away. He tries for a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing here.”

“No, I threw it all out,” Tony confirms. “After Sue was here.” He suddenly flinches and takes a step back, clutching one hand at the wrist and holding it against his chest.

“Tony?” Jim has no idea what he’s talking about. When Tony looks at him it’s with wide eyes, shocked and surprised. Like he doesn’t know where Jim is coming from all of a sudden. He turns around, taking in the sight of the room, the light falling in through the window and makes a helpless little sound somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Hey.” Without thinking, Jim wraps one arm around him from behind, uses the other hand to cover Tony’s eyes. Too late he realizes how threatening that might appear, but Tony doesn’t fight him. Tony doesn’t do much of anything but fall against him and breathe.

“That’s it. Deep breaths. You can do it. Come on, let’s go over here…” Jim is babbling as he guides his friend over to the couch, but his voice seems to calm Tony down some. When they get there, Tony curls into a ball with his head hidden between his arms and Jim lets him.

For a while he sits beside him, feeling like his body is made of lead and his thoughts as well. Then he gets up and goes to the kitchen to fetch the coffee Tony never finished getting. He places one steaming cup on the table beside the couch; maybe Tony will actually appreciate it in a while.

Tony is still curled up but no longer as tightly. His arms are resting beside his head and he’s staring blindly ahead. When Jim stops beside him, he asks, “What year is it?”

Jim gives the answer before his throat closes. Tony just nods, swallows, and closes his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

“Fuck everything.” Steve tries to spit the words out with force, but he’s tired and exhausted and the walls of the hall seem to swallow his voice up and let it run hollow and weak. Utterly unsatisfying as curses go, and it only adds to his frustration.

His scale mail is broken open over his shoulder, testament to him not paying attention. Usually, a couple of Doombots wouldn’t stand a chance of actually hitting him, but he honestly hadn’t seen that one coming. It ended up smashed in two by his shield, though, and that made up for it some.

Still, it got him, which means that on top of everything, his armor has to be fixed. And his uniform. And his arm.

The bot didn’t even cut him deep—he’s wearing mail for a reason—but the wound was made worse when Steve took the acrobatic route over roofs and walls and through back alleys back to their current HQ. And for no goddamn reason, too. The only enemies he had to escape were the reporters waiting at the edge of their battlefield, because Steve is pretty sure that not all of the questions they would have asked him were about Doombots.

Doombots in Central Park are nothing special, after all. That happens an average of one point seven times a year.

It happens decidedly too often anyway, and at the worst possible times. Of all the things that could happen to distract Steve from more important stuff, Doombots are still the least annoying variant, since they don’t take long to deal with. However.

Well. Not that it matters much, since so far their search for Tony’s attackers has gone absolutely nowhere. And while those people potentially are in possession of data that can endanger everyone, so long as they stay hidden they are no immediate threat, and no one but Steve really has them at the top of their priorities list.

Still, so long as Central Park is not under attack, they definitely rank higher than Doombots.

Maybe Steve should go to the gym. He feels like smashing something. What he really wants to do, though, is go to the tower and check on Tony, see how he’s doing for himself. He called Samson the other day, let the man explain to him in detail what they are doing, or trying to do, in order to get Tony in working condition again, but it still sounded as vague as Rhodes’ report and didn’t do much to calm Steve’s nerves on that front.

He wishes he could be there for Tony. That is what it comes down to. He loves him; isn’t that supposed to help? In a more ideal world, it would help.

And he misses him. It’s kind of ridiculous, given that they often spent months or weeks apart during the long history of their friendship, but as a matter of fact, Steve has always missed Tony when he wasn’t around for a while. It’s the little things, really. It’s not like there is a huge gaping hole inside him that only Tony’s presence can fill; instead, it’s ideas that Steve wants to share with Tony, silly remarks that slip out before Steve remembers that there’s no one present who would get them, meaningful looks he wants to exchange whenever someone says something stupid or absurd or important, only for his eyes to find nothing where Tony is supposed to be. Usually, this has made Steve a little wistful; during the worst of times it’s made him feel a little lonely. Now it’s like a painful shock whenever he finds Tony not there and remembers why. These days it feels like loss.

And he has to remind himself every time that Tony isn’t gone, that this isn’t forever, that he’s safe and looked after and recovering not five miles from here.

Maybe he could visit at night, when Tony is sleeping and won’t know he’s there. Just to make sure he’s really okay…

“You’re on TV.”

Steve flinches. It’s not that he didn’t notice, on some level, that someone had entered the room, but somehow it didn’t occur to him that they might actually address him.

He turns around to face Captain Marvel, her blonde hair falling onto her shoulders in a tangled mess after flying loops all day. Her eyebrow arches as she takes in Steve’s appearance. “And you’re bleeding,” she adds.

“It’s nothing.” The reply is automatic.

“No, obviously it’s not, if it doesn’t hinder you from somersaulting over rooftops and swinging from streetlamps in order to escape a few friendly reporters.”

Steve slumps back against the wall and resists the urge to bang his head against it. “That probably wasn’t all that smart, was it?”

“Well, we could always tell them you had to leave in a hurry to save a kitten from a tree at the other end of the city.” Steve glares at her and she lifts her hands in defense. “What? Tony once revealed Iron Man’s secret identity to the world because he had to save a dog from being run over by a car,” she reminds him.

Steve doesn’t know if this is an attempt to lighten his mood, but his lips twitch anyway remembering that particular occurrence. There are sides to Tony few people know and fewer acknowledge, and even he tends to forget them sometimes.

“Captain America’s secret identity is already known. I don’t think I can quite compete, even if kittens were involved.”

“You underestimate the power of kittens.”

“Maybe.” Steve sighs. “So what are they saying about me on TV? Were Doombots even mentioned?”

“They were mentioned briefly, as in ‘When we tried to get a statement, Captain America hurriedly fled Central Park, where he had been fighting Doombots.’ Followed by footage of you jumping buildings and speculation as to why you’re too ashamed of your relationship to talk to them about it.”

“I’m not…!” If he’s honest with himself, Steve has no right to complain about this, or to be surprised. It was obvious that the media would happily jump to this conclusion. He’s just been too preoccupied to think about the consequences of this issue much, especially since, in his opinion, it shouldn’t _be_ an issue. “I’ve always been open about my support of equal rights, of marriage equality… How can they legitimately make that claim?”

“It’s one thing to support something while officially being part of the privileged majority and another to openly be part of those who need to be supported,” Carol points out. “And you know how the media are just waiting for idols to fall, because it makes such good stories. Without any input from you or Tony, they are making up their own shit and they take the word of anyone willing to talk about the matter, as long as what they say can be used to support their speculation. And the interviews they showed and printed about your relationship include comments of members of the LGBT community who were ecstatic at first and now think you and Tony are the worst thing to ever happen to them in the history of fighting for acceptance.”

Steve closes his eyes. He never meant to disappoint anyone, especially not on something as important as basic human rights. And Tony never even got a say in all this, they are making assumptions about his motives when he doesn’t even know what’s going on. Still…

“I’m not some figurehead,” he says. “My life is my own. I don’t live the way I do to make a statement.”

“And yet you’re making a statement, whether it’s one you mean to make or not.” Carol speaks not unkindly but without mercy. “You _are_ a figurehead, Steve. You became one when you put on this uniform for the first time. We all did, but you more than anyone else. Captain _America_ , Steve. People are always going to apply every decision you make to some moral code the country should follow, and assume whatever you do, you do to lead by example. That doesn’t only work when it’s convenient for you.”

Carol is right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Steve wants to hear it. A part of him has never gotten over thinking that he’s no one special and therefore what he does with his private life shouldn’t be important, but the press doesn’t work that way, and to be honest, it never did.

He’s always known being Captain America came with a price, but somehow he never thought he’d have to sacrifice being a person for it.

“You know,” he says with a bitter smile, “usually it’s Tony giving me this kind of talk.”

“I know.” Carol answers with a smile of her own. “But would he have treated you to Chinese take-out afterwards?” She gestures towards the kitchen. “Come on. You need some food if you want to battle those reporters in their own arena.”

At this point, Steve could have told her exactly what Tony had treated him to after talks like this in the more recent past, and for a moment he is tempted, just to see her face. But she is already walking away and he is hungry, so he follows in silence while trying to figure out what to say about his private life the next time someone asks.

 

-

 

The morning starts with terrible news. Samson calls and tells Jim that something has come up; he won’t be able to come for a few days at least, and Jim curses at him for a while even though he knew that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Then he tries for a while to be quiet so he won’t wake Tony until he accepts that he’s being silly and that avoiding Tony until Samson comes back and takes care of whatever happens with Tony’s mind isn’t going to work.

When he enters the bedroom, he finds Tony writing at the desk. Jim places the glass of nutritious sludge Tony uses as a substitute for solid food beside him and tries to catch a glimpse of the notes, but they are almost completely illegible.

Tony notices, of course, and gives him a sheepish smile. “It helps, writing things down,” he explains. He looks tired but not crazy, and Jim feels like hugging him for sheer joy. Maybe there’s progress after all.

Maybe he won’t be required to do anything potentially damaging before Samson returns.

“Eat your breakfast,” he says, shoving the glass closer to Tony. “Your handwriting is an abomination.”

“There’s no computer in here. I keep wondering why Extremis doesn’t work, and then, then…” Tony trails off and raises a hand to his head, wincing in pain.

“What were you just writing?” Jim asks hurriedly, trying to distract him.

“Ah.” Tony takes a deep breath and, miraculously, manages to get a hold of himself before he can lose it completely. “I was… There’s… Kooning kept pestering me about taking over SHIELD. He was trying to blackmail me. I wasn’t interested.” His eyes go distant for a while before he looks at Jim as if he has all the answers. “I should have said yes sooner, shouldn’t I? Or… or not at all.” Now he’s distant again, lost in another memory. “So many people died while I was there. I could have,,, if I’d done things differently… Should have listened to Maya, at least Sal could have lived…”

“Tony,” Jim says firmly. He doesn’t know how Samson does it. Every time he talks to Tony, Tony gets lost. For lack of anything else he can think of, he grabs his friend’s shoulders and Tony flinches and tries to pull away, bringing up his hands to fight back.

“Tony!” This time Jim is almost yelling, but his voice seems to come through. For a moment, Tony stares at him wide-eyed. Then he takes a deep, shaking breath and slumps in his chair.

“I hate this.”

“You and me both, Boss.” Jim takes the glass again and places it into Tony’s hands. “Drink this. We need to get some food into you. And describe this room to me.”

“I can’t do both at the same time.”

“Smartass.”

Tony does as he’s told. He drinks half the glass, then looks around, focusing on one spot at a time. “It’s my bedroom in the tower. The bedsheets are blue. The bed isn’t made. Carpet, black.” He turns his attention to the desk, describes the mess of papers before him, the scratch in the wood Jim wouldn’t even have noticed on his own, the lamp, what kind of pen he’s been using, and with every word, his voice gets more steady. Afterwards he turns his attention to the window. “It’s noon, the sky is overcast. Moderate traffic from what I can tell. About a mile from here, a police car is racing down the street.” He frowns. “And another one, going in the same direction.” When he stands and walks over to the window to have a better view, Jim follows. Together they make out the helicopter as it shows up, and the humanoid shape soaring through the air. It’s too far away to tell who it is, but Captain Marvel seems a pretty good guess.

“I’ll go check this,” Jim decides and runs to see if his armor or the news have anything to say about this.

They do. There are Doombots in Central Park. Jim very nearly rolls his eyes. Well, at least it’s not anything overly dramatic. He’d have hated having to leave Tony alone.

When he comes back, Tony is still standing at the window. “Doombots in Central Park?” he guesses.

“Doombots in Central Park,” Jim confirms. “The Avengers took care of them, no big deal.”

“Hm,” Tony doesn’t avert his eyes from the world outside the window. “Did you know that the French call them fatalibots?”

Random information. And a silly word. “No, they do not.”

“Do, too.”

“No, they don’t. It sounds stupid. It sounds like a toy line.”

“It’s French for Doombot.”

“It still sounds stupid.”

“Tell the French that. Maybe they think Doombots sounds silly, too.”

“It does. But that’s what they are named.”

“Well, what do you expect of someone who calls himself Doctor Doom?” Tony stops to think. “Though to be fair, that _is_ his name. Just like Doctor Strange is actually a doctor named Strange:” Another pause. “Do you think that some people are predestined for bullshit by their names? Because I’m seeing a pattern here.”

“Do you? What’s your conclusion then, Doctor Stark?” Jim asks with a smile.

But Tony’s shoulders slump and he looks down. “Stark is German for strong,” he explains, voice quiet, and no. No no no no no, this isn’t okay. Jim doesn’t want this moment to end.

Before he can think of anything to say, though, Tony straightens and walks out of the room. “Come on, then,” he says, his voice a little rough, but brave. “Let’s get on with this. I think I was just telling you about Stamford.” His voice wavers only a little.

“Are you sure?” Jim has to hurry to catch up with his friend and then slow down because Tony is still limping. “You don’t want to wait until Samson’s back?”

“That could be weeks. I don’t want to wait that long, because this is working.” Tony swallows dryly and doesn’t look at Jim. “I know it doesn’t always look like it, but it is. Everything we’ve talked about—every memory I’ve walked through step-by-step is making sense now. Well, more sense anyway.” Now he steals a glance at his friend and Jim is reminded that just going by the memories they already sorted through, his healthy and human appearance doesn’t make sense. “I want to get through it all as fast as possible so random shit can’t ambush me anymore and you can go home.” He looks away again. “I know I’m just boring you with stuff you already know.”

“Tone, your beds are so much better than mine,” Jim says lightly. “So’s your TV. If you want me to leave here, you’ll have to have security drag me out.” Not to mention that he didn’t know half the stuff Tony told him so far. And even the things he did know sometimes sounded quite different from Tony’s perspective.

Tony has barely sat down on the couch when the video phone beeps. Both Jim and Tony jump, startled, and then Jim hurries over to it. “Don’t get up, I’ll take this,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too much like ’Let me handle your phone calls because you’re unable to do that yourself,’ since that’s exactly what this is.

And this number was blocked for everyone except a few people who know what’s going on with Tony right now and wouldn’t use it unless it’s an emergency. Jim just hopes it’s not an emergency that requires Iron Man, because that is out of the question right now.

It’s Pepper. Why would Pepper call on this phone when she could have called Jim directly? She has to know that Tony is in no condition to talk to her, let alone about emergency stuff.

He accepts the call and her face shows up. Good. So it really _is_ Pepper and not someone else using her phone because Pepper got kidnapped or was run over by a car.

“Rhodey,” she greets him, and she looks as relieved as Jim is secretly feeling. “There you are. I was worried when you didn’t pick up your cell.”

“I… What?”

Of course Pepper would be worried. Because Jim carries that phone all the time in case someone has to contact him. Except, apparently, today, when he left it in his bedroom. And the door must have swung closed (or he closed it himself, he doesn’t even remember) and he didn’t hear it ring. And really, he just wants to bang his head against the screen until it breaks.

“Sorry, Pepper. My fault. Won’t happen again,” he promises and she frowns when she realizes that this was just him messing up. Pepper doesn’t have a lot of tolerance for shit like that. “What’s up?” he hurries to ask. “You probably didn’t just call me to see if I’m holding my phone.”

“No, I’m calling because I might need your help,” she says bluntly. “Well, Tony’s help would be perfect, but you’ll do. There’s something going on that maybe you could check out? It’s not that urgent, if you can’t leave right now,” she adds quickly. “But I don’t know who else to ask.”

“It’s fine. Shoot.” Even as he says it, Jim tries to think of an elegant way to say ‘Tony is in the next room, please don’t mention Steve or anything personally upsetting, and seriously, why did you have to call where he can hear you?’ He keeps his voice down but Tony is sitting not thirty feet away behind a door that isn’t soundproof. Chances are he can hear every word.

“There have been several attempts at hacking into Resilient’s database last week. Didn’t work, so far, and we don’t know if it’s anything serious or just some hacker deciding to try his skills on a firewall developed by Tony Stark, but they are persistent. And Cababa says he saw someone around the back door last night when he pulled an all-nighter, and it looks like someone tried to break the electronic lock.”

“So you need me to be your guard dog and beat up whoever is trying to sneak in?”

“Basically, yes.”

That sounds doable. Doable, necessary, and like a nice change from sitting here freaking out over Tony. Jim nods slowly, but says, “Anytime, Pepper, but now. I can’t leave at the moment. But tell me at once if anything else happens. Actually…” The thought comes to him suddenly but when it does it makes so much sense. “I think you should tell Ca… tell the Avengers about it. It’s probably not connected, but they can see if your hacker has anything to do with the guys who took Tony.”

Her eyes widen. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“As I said, it might not be connected at all.” Jim doesn’t want her to get her hopes up too much, but he also says it to remind himself not to get his own hopes up. “But, hey, even if it isn’t, at least there’ll be a hacker somewhere in the world who tried to break into your computers for fun and suddenly had the Avengers breathing down his neck. I wish I could be there to see it.”

Pepper tries a smile. “I’ll have them take pictures. How _is_ To-”

She stops speaking the same moment the door behind Jim opens, and Jim thinks, _No, no, you idiot, can’t you just stay where I left you and be okay?_

“Tony,” Pepper finishes. “Wow. How are you? You look good.” Which is a blatant lie. Tony looks like shit to anyone but Jim, who’s been here for a while and has seen him look even worse.

“I’m fine.” The answer comes automatically, like a reflex. Jim isn’t sure Tony even heard the question. He’s pale, and trembling ever-so-slightly, even though Pepper can’t possibly see that. His good hand is clenched so tightly that his nails have to be digging into his palm; he’s trying hard to remain calm and focused and Jim would like to murder him now, the sooner the better. “You’re not… You’re okay.” It’s a statement, not a question. Jim suddenly gets why Tony felt he had to see Pepper, but he’s still pissed.

Damn Tony for always having to make things difficult for no other reason than Hey-I’m-Tony-Stark-and-I-fucking-can!

“Yes, I’m fine. We’re all okay. Don’t worry about us.” With some luck, Tony hasn’t registered anything Pepper and Jim talked about and doesn’t know there’s anything wrong at Resilient. If he even remembers what Resilient is at the moment.

“Pepper was just giving me an update on things,” Jim says, eager to end this call before it can go south. So far, Tony has seen Pepper and knows (for right this minute) that she’s fine, Pepper has seen Tony and knows that he can talk in complete sentences as long as they don’t have more than three words, and everyone is more or less reassured that the other isn’t dead or dying or completely insane. Jim is willing to take that and call it a win. “She has to get back to work, though, and we have things to do as well, so if you’ll excuse us…” he says, turning to Pepper and willing her to get it.

She does, naturally. Pepper is smart and knows how to take a hint when it’s smashed into her face with the force of a sledge hammer. “Sure, don’t let me keep you. I’ll call you if there’s anything you should know about.”

“Thanks, Pep,” Tony replies. “Say Hi to Happy when-“ He stops and his eyes go wide and haunted as he stares at Pepper, who stares back, shocked where Tony looks utterly crushed. A strangled sound escaped his throat that was maybe meant to be a word, and then Tony stumbles backwards, nearly falls, and runs out of the room faster than he should be able to.

“Oh shit.” Jim can’t help it; it has to be said. “Pepper…”

But Pepper has already cut the connection, which is alright by him, since he’s already half out the door.

Tony didn’t make it far. Jim finds him slumped behind the couch, clutching his chest and hyperventilating. He’s crying, because Jim’s day hasn’t been ruined enough yet. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over, not resisting when Jim pulls him close and holds him.

“It’s okay, I know, just breathe. Pepper can take it, it’s been a while, she was just surprised.” Jim tries to calm him down but he’s not even sure that’s what Tony is talking about.

Tony is shaking apart in Jim’s hands, sobbing openly, and it doesn’t take long for Jim to realize that it’s not guilt over having said something stupid in front of Pepper and hurting her that’s hitting him so hard, but grief. Tony isn’t just remembering Happy’s death, he’s reliving it. Not just one moment at a time but all of it, at once. It explains why he’s losing hold over his emotions so completely right now. Jim wasn’t there, but he doesn’t think Tony ever grieved this openly, even in private. Knowing Tony, he never let it out like this, and Jim imagines him now, sitting alone in this room while killing one of the best friends he ever had. Because even if they never talked about it, Jim knows that’s what really happened. Life support equipment doesn’t just fail like that, and Happy wouldn’t have wanted to exist in that state. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Jim wasn’t there then, but he is now, and he won’t let Tony go through this on his own again. But as he holds his shaking friend, he once again becomes aware that it might not even matter if he’s here or not, because he wasn’t there when it happened and his presence won’t change the past, or how Tony remembers it. Maybe all he can do is sit here on the floor and feel helpless.

Eventually, though, Tony shifts and buries his face in Jim’s shoulder, and Jim strokes his back until he falls silent. This is something he can do, at least.

 

-

 

Steve is still submerged somewhere under the giant pile of take-out Carol and Clint have collected in the kitchen when his phone rings. The ID says Virginia Potts, so there’s never any thought of not picking up.

She tells him of trouble she and her co-workers have been having with someone trying to break into their facilities repeatedly and of Rhodes’ idea that it might have something to do with the men who took Tony. It seems a little far-fetched at first sight, but Steve can see where the thought is coming from. Within half an hour, he’s on his way to Seattle.

Fortunately, he’s still in uniform. Unfortunately, his uniform still needs mending. Carol took care of the cut in his shoulder before making him eat, at least, so there’s no risk of him bleeding on the upholstery. And he’s healing fast. Unfortunately, the bloodstains on his clothes are entirely unimpressed by that.

Accordingly, Pepper gives him a shocked look when he jumps out of the Quinjet and he has to spend a few minutes assuring her that he’s really fine, not just the Tony kind of fine. “What about you, though?” he asks as she’s leading him into her office. “You look a little unwell.”

“I’m not. It’s just.” She makes a vague gesture. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

Steve nods wordlessly but she’s not even looking at him. At her desk, she hands him a couple of high-quality photos of the outside of the building. “These are stills from the security cameras,” she tells him. “I can show you the videos later, though they don’t show much more.”

“’Much more’? These don’t show anything-” Steve stops and takes a closer look. At first glance, the picture he’s holding just shows the dimly illuminated façade of the building they are in, a couple of bushes and part of a walkway, but the longer he looks at it, the better he can see that in one place, the lines are blurred ever-so-slightly. In one spot it looks like there’s grass growing at the edge of the walkway, and that’s what got his attention in the first place, as it seems out of place on the very well-kept ground. Upon closer look, it seems more like the tiles are overlapping with the lawn.

“You have good eyes,” Pepper notes.

“Comes with the serum,” Steve says absentmindedly. “Looks like some kind of cloaking technology to me.”

“That’s what we think as well. It’s very hard to make out on the pictures or on film. We would have missed it if my co-worker hadn’t noticed someone outside the other night. He said he saw a shadow moving over the lawn, so the cloaking isn’t that good to the naked eye, but it’s very effective on camera.”

“What about infrared, motion sensors, the like?”

“Didn’t pick up anything. And there was no alarm even when whoever came here tried to hack the door lock and failed.” Pepper shakes her head in frustration. “To be honest, it’s freaking me out a little. Now, failed breaking-and-entering isn’t exactly Avengers business, and it’s not like we’re helpless here. In fact, I think Cabe might murder me when she hears I called you. But whoever is doing this, they have great equipment, and they know how to handle our security even if they can’t hack it. So it doesn’t seem that far out there that the people who hacked into Tony’s brain have something to do with it, does it?” She sounds almost hopeful.

Steve is hopeful, too. If she’s right, this might be the best lead they’ve had yet. But he’s doubtful, too.

“If they hacked his brain, wouldn’t they know how to get in here?” He uses her words even though he hates talking about Tony as if he were a computer.

“Not necessarily. Tony’s got… well, you could say he firewalled his mind, and some things are better protected than others. It’s safe to assume everything connected to the Avengers or his companies’ security is pretty hard to get.”

“Are we talking about a decoding problem here or didn’t they get it in the first place?”

Pepper sighs. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Let’s hope it’s the latter, because every code can be decoded eventually. You’d have to ask Tony to be sure, but…” She shakes her head, looking into the distance. “I wouldn’t advise you to talk to Tony right now.”

“I’m banned from seeing him anyway,” Steve reminds her. But something about the way she said it tells him there’s more to it. “Pepper… Did you talk to Tony lately?”

“Briefly. I wanted to talk to Rhodey. Tony was there.” She sits down in her chair and leans back. “He’s…” She suddenly laughs, bitterly. “You know, even knowing Tony, and Iron Man, and seeing him struggle and fail over and over, I used to think being a superhero means you can protect the ones you love. And then Tony built me the suit and everything was perfect for a while. I felt so strong, like I was safe for the first time ever. Like everyone was safe because I could make it so. But that’s not how it works. People you love still get hurt and you can only stand by and watch it happen.”

“And you’ll never get used to it.” Steve knows that’s probably not what she wants to hear but she’s so right with what she said and he still doesn’t understand sometimes how he can be a national icon and yet unable to protect those that matter most.

“I wish I could hate him,” she suddenly says, taking him by surprise. “He’s put me through so much and I… I used to be so _angry_ , and right now I wish I still was. But he’s so pathetically hurt and he’s _trying_ and… The thing is, however badly _I_ am hurt, Tony is hurt worse, so I can’t even be mad at him without feeling guilty. And I don’t want to be mad at him because this isn’t even his fault, except it is, and it would be easier to blame him. I am hurt and I want to be angry at Tony because it would help me feel better. But he doesn’t even give me that.” She stops and covers her face with her hand. “God, that makes me sound like a horrible person.”

“It makes you sound like a person.” Steve places a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. We all feel like that sometimes.”

“Liar.” She gives him a shaky smile. “I bet Captain America doesn’t even know what it means to be that petty.”

“You know, one of the reasons why I love Tony is because he never forgets that I am human.”

“I guess.” Pepper rubs a hand over her eyes, though as far as Steve can tell, she hasn’t been crying. “He’s like that.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, nothing, really. He looked… Well, you know how he looks right now.”

“I don’t,” Steve admits. “I haven’t been able to see him in over a week. I only get the reports from Rhodes and Doctor Samson ever now and then. When I’m asking. I don’t know how he’s doing.”

“Really?” She sounds honestly surprised, as if she never considered that being banned from being in Tony’s presence actually meant not being able to be with him. “That must be hard.”

And somehow, she’s the first one who acknowledged that. “Yes, it is. I want to be there for him and I can’t. Superhero or not.” He gives her a crooked smile.

“Okay, then.” She points to the pictures, getting back to business. “Here’s something you can do.”

“I’ll want to look at those tapes. When did this happen?”

“Last week. We found these distortions on the tapes four nights in a row when we checked, but nothing since Sunday. It seems after they were spotted by Tim, they didn’t dare coming back. Maybe they gave up.”

“If it’s really the ones who kidnapped Tony, beat him half-dead and broke his mind, they certainly didn’t give up just because someone saw a shadow. But if they’re not in a hurry, they might stay away until everyone’s calmed down and you don’t expect them anymore.”

“That makes me feel much better.”

“If this is really someone dangerous, we’ll get them,” Steve assures her.

“And if they don’t have anything to do with the guys you’re looking for?”

“Then we’ll still get them.” Steve tries to make his grin look more convincing. “It has to have some benefits to have connections to the Avengers, right?”

“It would be a nice change, in any case,” Pepper retorts dryly.

“All the more important to help, then.” Steve looks down at her notes and frowns. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with the computer hacking though.”

Pepper snorts. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Tony is not the only one connected to this company who knows how to write computer code.”

Steve thinks about Resilient’s ambitions to revolutionize the idea of data networks and has to admit that she has a point.

“Is there some place where I can work?” he asks her. “I’d like to have a better look at all this stuff, and I might call a few other Avengers over if it looks promising.”

“You can take Tony’s old office. We‘re not currently using it.”

“That’s… fine. Thank you.” If Pepper noticed his second’s hesitation, she kindly doesn’t comment on it.

 

-

 

Tony closes his eyes and balls his broken hand into a fist where Rhodey can’t see it. It hurts and that’s good. He focuses on the pain and then he focuses on the memory and on the sound of his own voice.

“What happened next?” Jim asks when he’s been silent for a minute, gently prompting him to go on and not linger in one moment for too long.

“Cloak teleports us back outside. All of us. We come out in the sky above the city. First priority is to keep everyone from falling to their death.” Tony remembers the sudden shock of falling, firing up his repulsor boots within a second and aiming for the nearest person that was falling freely, not caring who it was. He’s convinced, right up until the end, that they can’t make it, that unprepared as they were the few fliers they have won’t be able to get everyone in time. When he looks around afterwards, it’s with dread and fear for the life of anyone he can’t make out immediately in the chaos.

He hates himself a lot of things, more than he could list, but he can’t hate himself for the relief he feels when he finds Steve.

“I thin- I thought we’d have to fight now.” He doesn’t even know if his voice is loud enough to be heard. “I knew I could beat him. I knew I would have to hurt him because he wouldn’t give up while he could still fight, but I was willing to do it. I was willing to do it.” He’s done it before. And it’s better than the alternative, it’s what he has to do even if he won’t forgive himself for it, Steve can take it, Tony knows how to injure without causing permanent harm, he can do this, he has to…

“Tony. Breathe.”

Rhodey’s voice barely manages to find its way into Tony’s awareness but his hand, closing around Tony’s, warm and real, does. ( _steve’s hand is cold as ice and completely limp and he’s lying on a metal table with bullet holes in his chest and Tony never wanted this never wanted this doesn’t understand why he’s still alive_ ) Tony’s other hand closes tighter, so tightly he thinks he feels something shift inside and the pain grounds him, as it should.

“Maybe we should stop here.”

It takes him a moment to understand the words, with the city on fire around him and his armor useless and knowing what will come, what will happen now and absurdly, absurdly hoping it will be different. “I’m ready to fight Captain America but he’s prepared for this,” he says because he has to do this now or he never might. “Vision disables my armor so I can’t do anything.” Steve attacks and he doesn’t stop even though Tony can’t fight back. Even when Tony’s armor is so damaged that he wouldn’t be a threat when it came online again. Even when it breaks, when the next blow could kill him. Tony knew where this was going when it started and he despises himself because after everything he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made and forced other people to make in the name of the lesser evil, all he feels now, at the prospect of death and the things that might happen when he’s no longer around to make sure those sacrifices and betrayals were not in vain, is a wild and desperate hope.

He hears his own voice, unnaturally loud over the noise of the battle around them, doesn’t know if he’s still talking to Rhodey (to himself). Maybe the grip around his hand gets tighter. All Tony knows is that look on Steve’s face that tells him Steve wants him dead, that right here and right now he wants nothing more than to end Tony Stark’s pathetic life (he’s seen that look before) and he doesn’t want to keep on living in a world where Steve hates him this much.

But the world isn’t that kind to him, and why would it be? Suddenly there are people, normal people, the people they swore to protect, who went completely unacknowledged in their fighting and then are just there, all over Steve, dragging him away. Tony wants to tell them not to bother (he wants to yell at them, ‘Stop, what are you _doing_?’), warn them they might get hurt. Steve, he’s distantly aware, tells them to let him go, he doesn’t want to hurt them. Tony might have laughed if he remembered how.

And then it’s over. Just like that. The sudden stop to all the madness is like a vacuum sucking in the world and Tony feels like falling even as he’s dragged to his feet. His throat hurts and he can’t breathe. He’s crying and it’s a long time before he realizes it, because he didn’t cry that day. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t even wipe the blood off his face.

For so long afterwards, he’s just numb. It never feels like victory.

And Tony thinks that he would like to die now. Or crawl into a hole and never come out. To never again face the world and other people or any other thing that happened in his life because this wasn’t the worst. Instead, after a very long time of silence, he opens his mouth and continues talking. He can’t stop now. Not because he doesn’t think he can start again if he does (he can’t) but because he needs the continuity. He can’t let his mind jump ahead and kill him.

So he pushes his way down memory lane, forcefully, with Rhodey holding his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve spends a night lying in wait hidden on the roof of the Resilient building while a man called Macken keeps watch through the security cameras. Predictably, nothing happens. After stirring everyone up, whoever tired to break in doesn’t risk coming back so soon after having been seen. Still, it was worth a try.

The next day, Steve finally gets a hold of Wolverine. The downside of the mutant being on two teams at the same time is that he tends to not be available when the X-Men have any sort of crisis, which is basically every other day. But he comes when Steve calls him and uses his sense of smell (which is, in this case, better than any technology they have at their disposal), and tells him in no uncertain terms that “It’s them. I recognize the smell. It was all over Stark.”

Then he’s off to follow the trail and Steve follows him, itching to finally find them. It takes all his focus to remain calm.

He does curse, and loudly, when the trail is lost not even a mile later. “Teleported away,” Logan deducts, standing in a room on the second floor of an empty apartment building. “From the fact that they walked this far instead of jumping straight to their goal, I’d say it’s either a flashy way of travelling they prefer to do in hidden places, or they need a stationary unit to do it.”

It’s not much, but at least Steve can be fairly sure that during a fight they won’t simply dematerialize right before his eyes.

And they have a concrete hint as to where their targets are. The room they are in is bare and was clearly never the kidnappers’ base of operations. There has to be a place nearby where they holed up while planning their break into the company, and even if they are no longer there, chances are they left something useful behind. A trace. Anything.

Wolverine goes searching for it. He can find pretty much anyone if they are anywhere to be found. Steve leaves him to it because it’s nothing he can help with. He informs SHIELD, though, tells them all they found out.

When he comes back to Pepper’s office to tell her what he knows, he finds her just finishing a call.

“That was Rhodey,” she explains after hanging up. “They used pretty advanced technology, possibly alien, and he thinks maybe the scanners of his suit will be able to pick up something we missed.”

“That’s not actually a bad idea.” Steve tells her of the cut trail and their conviction that there’s a large teleporting station moving around somewhere in the city. As far as he knows, the equipment of the War Machine armor isn’t as refined as Iron Man’s, but it’s still better than anything else they have at their disposal.

On the other hand, it means that Rhodes will have to leave Tony alone, and Steve isn’t so sure about that. But then, it’s not like Tony will be completely on his own and unobserved, and right now, taking out the ones who hurt him and thereby keeping them from doing so ever again has to come first.

“Tell him to come, then,” he decides finally.

Pepper shakes her head with a smile. “He’s already on his way.”

 

-

 

It’s a long way from New York to Seattle, but War Machine is fast. He won’t need any longer for the journey than Steve did in the Quinjet. Still, it’s a few hours to wait before they can take any action on that front and Steve returns to the building where Wolverine lost the trail. Maybe he’ll find something they missed since they only concentrated on things like smell the first time they came, but no. There’s nothing. Steve lingers a moment longer, missing Tony and feeling like smashing in the window. Naturally, he doesn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. He regrets it one block later when a woman in a smart suit walks straight up to him, followed by a man holding a camera.

It’s probably not too late to run away. And Steve really, really isn’t in the mood for this. He has made the decision to deal with the reporters, however, and besides, there’s no way to get out of this right now without looking like a fool or a coward and giving the gossip mills more food.

He has to deal with this because Tony can’t and Steve can’t allow them to keep slandering his name when he doesn’t even know it’s happening. (He really hopes Rhodes doesn’t let Tony watch TV.) Still, he’s in civilian clothes and didn’t really think anyone would recognize him when they shouldn’t even know he’s in Seattle.

They are approaching Steve Rogers now, not Captain America. Kind of fitting, considering this is a matter of Steve Rogers’ private fucking life.

Steve wonders if she waited here for him, or if she was just getting lucky, standing around at some corner with a cameraman all day waiting for anyone interesting to come her way. Yeah, that’s likely.

He lets her come close to him and hopes against hope that she wants to talk about Doombots.

“Captain America,” she greets him. “You’re a hard man to catch these days.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees more people coming towards him: a man with a microphone and another with a notebook. He wonders if there’s a nest around here somewhere, while a part of his mind that is particularly paranoid screams _‘Trap!’_

“I’m just Steve Rogers right now,” he tells her, indicating his civilian clothes.

“So I take it you take the separation between your civilian identity and your superhero persona very seriously?”

“Well, I try to keep it separate as much as that’s possible. I understand that Captain America is a public figure but I do what I can to keep my private life as private as that of anyone else.” He smiles and desperately hopes she’ll get the hint.

“And yet it cannot be denied that Tony Stark has always lived every part of his private life in the spotlight of the media,” she points out.

 _‘You have no idea,’_ Steve thinks sourly. It’s frightening how much even Tony’s closest friends never knew about him. Out loud he says, “The media didn’t even know he was Iron Man until rather recently.”

“So it can be said that his private life was always more public than anything business- or Avengers-related,” she twists his words right around. Steve already regrets not having pretended to be mind-controlled by aliens upon first seeing her. “Yet there has been no sign of him for weeks. We all expected Stark himself or the Avengers to give a press conference long ago.”

It’s good that he does this, Steve reminds himself. If he didn’t, if no one talked to the press (other than Luke or Logan, who really shouldn’t be allowed to), this would be what the reporters asked about the next time the Avengers gave a press conference on something decidedly more important.

“There has been no official statement whatsoever,” the man with the notebook joins in. “We all expected you to clear up this misunderstanding as quickly as possible.”

There, Steve stops. “What misunderstanding?”

“The general assumption that you and Stark are sexually involved, based on one not-very-telling photo,” the man says as if it were obvious.

“Oh.” Steve honestly hasn’t expected that. “I’d describe it as romantically involved before anything else, but either way, there’s no misunderstanding. We didn’t give an official statement because we didn’t think the matter deserved any official statements.” He turns back to the woman who addressed him first, while the other guy stares at him as if he’s suddenly grown rabbit ears. “We will not hide it, but we didn’t see why we should act like our relationship was in any way of interest to other people.”

“But haven’t you been hiding it? We never saw you and Stark out together in any way that could be interpreted as particularly romantic. Or is that a recent development?”

“Does that mean you and Stark tearing the city apart was just an elaborate lover’s spat? Was that really for political reasons or did you catch him cheating on you with the Hulk?” Other Guy asks. He grins as if he’s said something funny. Steve ignores him because the only appropriate response would be punching him in the throat.

Instead, he considers lying for the sake of simplicity. Not a good idea. He tries to be as vague, however, as he can get away with. “We started our relationship about eight months ago. The reason why we didn’t parade it in public is exactly this.” He makes a gesture that encompasses the entire scene. “We felt it might distract the media from more important things they should be interested in.”

“It’s what’s interesting to the public that determines what’s of public interest,” the woman replies smoothly. “Anyway, you have both been in hiding since the news came out, which led many to the belief that you are ashamed of being seen together in public.”

“We are not,” Steve says more harshly than he meant to. “What is there to be ashamed of about being together with someone you love and who loves you back? Explain to me, since you know so much, what is wrong with being in love.”

“I think,” the third man speaks for the first time in a completely reasonable voice, “the issue many people have is with how unnatural a romance between two men is and how, if a national icon like Captain America participates in it, it gives the wrong message to the public.”

“What message? The message that it’s okay for _everyone_ to be happy? If that is considered wrong for this country then I should change my name.”

The man opens his mouth to reply, but the woman is faster. “You say that, and yet you do it alone. Your lover hasn’t been seen since all this started. Does Tony Stark not share your opinion?”

“Did you break up?” Other Guy asks, serious for once. “With a reputation like his, I can imagine Stark doesn’t need the bad publicity this brings, though I’m more surprised about—”

“With a reputation like his, do you honestly think Tony cares about what the media have to say about him?” Steve snaps. He needs to pull himself together and retreat as gracefully as possible. It was a terrible idea to go into this unprepared. He’s only going to make things worse if he pisses off the wrong people, and this woman, at least, is working for a major news station.

“Tony is occupied with other things. That’s why you haven’t seen him around lately.” He tries for a reasonable, professional, not-at-all angry tone. “We are _not_ joined at the hip. As you know, Tony Stark is a very busy man and it’s not at all unusual for his obligations or for matters Iron Man has to deal with to take him away for weeks at a time. In fact, I doubt he even knows yet that our relationship has become public knowledge.” Steve feels like this is a mistake the moment he says it. Lying, even a little, has a tendency to get out of hand and come back to bite him when it comes out, but he doesn’t want them to know Tony is sick and unable to deal with these things. It’s none of their business.

“Are we really supposed to believe that Tony Stark, master of electronic communication and data theft, doesn’t know what’s been on the news for the last weeks?” the man asks incredulously.

And there is it already. “Yes,” Steve says none the less, hoping to convince them by sheer power of sounding convincing. “I know this is not the story you were hoping for, but it’s literally all there is to it. Tony and I are together, yes, and we are not ashamed to say it, and I kept away from the press because I was busy and because I had hoped I could postpone dealing with this until I had the chance to talk it over with my partner. And now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“There are voices saying this is a publicity stunt,” the woman interrupts him, and Steve thinks if ever there was a good moment for an alien invasion, this is it. “Mr. Rogers, you have never been known to show an interest in men. You’ll have to admit that this comes a little suddenly.”

“Not at all. As I mentioned before, I make a point of trying to not live my life in the public eye, so unless someone was spying on me in my home, I’d like to know how those voices you cited would know who I have or haven’t shown an interest in.”

“But Stark has been living his life in the public eye—” Other Guy starts.

“Yeah, you mentioned that already. And he has been seen with a wide variety of people.”

“And there are voices that think he corrupted you,” the woman finishes what Other Guy started.

“Would they ask the same question if it were a woman with a reputation I hooked up with?” Steve asks darkly. He starts walking again and picks up speed, hoping they’ll get the message or get tired of keeping up with him.

“And he’s been very keen on being seen with beautiful women,” Other Guy finished the way he intended that statement to go.

“So you are unwilling to comment on the rumor that Stark ended your relationship in the wake of its reveal to protect his reputation and avoid the inconvenience this causes,” the second man concludes. It sounds final.

“What? I said the opposite!” Steve protests, but the man has already stopped following him, having apparently gotten what he wanted. Steve wonders why he went through the trouble of ambushing him when he intended to make everything up as it suits him anyway.

“You know what?” Steve snaps at the remaining people. “Tony will give you his own answers as soon as he’s able to. And now please leave me the— …alone, I have things to do, and quickly.” He starts to jog, and none of them are in any kind of shape or clothes to follow him. This will come down to more footage of Captain America running from the press, he’s sure of it.

And everyone was wondering why he didn’t want to deal with this. With his luck, he’s just made everything worse.

 

-

 

He makes it back without further incident, mostly by using back alleys and going off-road and generally employing stealth tactics for broad daylight. He wonders how long it will be until his interview—and he uses the word very generously here—hits the TV screens. He won’t watch it but he’ll know anyway, because people will tease him about it. And scold him. And both at once.

Once in Tony’s old office, Steve loses himself in the security tapes again, for lack of anything better to do. Maybe he missed something. Mostly, he wants a distraction.

Maybe he can actually contribute something useful to catching the people who hurt the man he loves, but he has little hope. This day, at least, he hasn’t done much that was helpful.

If Tony were here, he would tease Steve mercilessly about his lack of skill when it comes to handling the press. But he’d still somehow manage to be nice about it.

Tony never wanted this thing between them to come out. Steve is sure of that. He never really thought much about it but, now that he is, he’s certain Tony didn’t avoid bringing it up only for Steve’s sake.

In the past few days, he’s thought a lot about what Rhodes said about Tony’s motivation for keeping it secret. Protecting Steve’s reputation, that’s big. As if Steve needed someone else to make that decision for him. Except, of course, that’s exactly something Tony would do. And he would think that Steve’s reputation needed to be protected. Not from the same-sex relationship but from the relationship with Tony Stark.

It’s hard to forget how naturally they slipped into their romance when it happened, yet how reluctant Tony was in the beginning to let it go on. First he assumed it had been a mistake on Steve’s part and acted like he was fine with it, then he tried to break it off several times, each time looking like he was ripping his own heart out with every word. The look on his face was what had Steve convinced that Tony would regret losing this just as much as he would, and for once he had taken the initiative and made sure Tony understood he wasn’t going anywhere.

And what else did Rhodes say? Tony wasn’t sure how long it would last? It makes sense, too, and knowing Tony, he wasn’t worried about losing interest in Steve. He was worried—no, he was (is?) _convinced,_ because Tony is an idiot in all the important matters—that Steve would lose interest in him. And if the media had known, if they had been in the spotlight as a couple at that time? It would have been a lot harder on both of them. Everyone would probably have blamed Tony, due to that reputation of his that is completely unfounded where committed relationships are concerned. It would have broken Tony’s heart, and it would have been (another) very public heartbreak.

Or maybe he’s been scared that Steve would stay with him even if he didn’t want him anymore to avoid the media fallout. And he would always have been in doubt. And Steve wants to put a fist through the wall because they should have _talked about this_.

But they didn’t since Steve was too comfortable with the way things were. With just enjoying what they had without letting too many people know about it, because…

Because if the world had known and decided that it was some kind of statement it would have been hard to end it should they ever need to. The realization comes suddenly, when he can no longer avoid it, and it makes Steve groan and bury his head in his hands because he was so stupid.

Now the world knows and he doesn’t want to think how hard a break-up, even an amicable one, is going to be now. He just wants Tony to be at his side again.

Eventually, after a long time, he moves. Gets up and gets out of this damn office that is so amazingly small and doesn’t contain anything personal anymore, no sign that it was ever not empty. He wanders through the building, trying to get a closer look at everything, a feel for the layout of the place should he ever need it but really just wandering around because his mind is running in circles and what he really wants to do is be somewhere else.

It doesn’t take long for him to end up in a room full of computers. All of them are running but only one is occupied by a young man with dark hair who seems to do little else but stare at a graphic in front of him. While Steve still tries to decide whether he should leave or ask what all this is for, the man turns around and looks at him.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re Captain America!”

“That’s right.” Steve tries not to sound wary. Pepper certainly told her co-workers that he’s here. Actually, he was pleasantly surprised no one had approached him so far. But then, there aren’t many people around here and those who are all worked for Iron Man, so they are used to the whole superhero thing.

But then the young man grins. “I have to say, when I saw the would-be burglar the other day, I didn’t think it’d result in Captain America paying us a visit. I’ve been wanting to meet you for ages.”

Steve isn’t sure what to say to that, even though he hears it a lot. Before he can say anything, however, the man leans back in his chair and looks him over with raised eyebrows. “So you’re the guy who has it going on with Tony, huh?”

At once, the anger flashes up again. “If you have a problem with that, now isn’t a good time to tell me,” Steve warns.

The other’s face falls. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m actually-”

“Rogers.”

Steve turns, glad for the distraction. He didn’t expect Rhodes to be here already and but then, he might have lost his sense of time over his inner turmoil. And while he didn’t get the impression that the man was particularly happy with him last time they met, he didn’t expect the cold fury on Rhodes’ face, nor does he expect the fist that connects with his jaw a second later.

“Whoa!” the guy at the computer says. “What.”

Steve stumbles back a step, more out of surprise than because of the impact, although his head does ring for a moment. He can take a lot more than a normal human but Rhodes is a strong guy with muscles similar to Steve’s, even if they are not enhanced by the serum. And he wasn’t holding back.

“What the hell?” Steve asks dumbfounded.

“You bastard!” Rhodes hisses. Despite the punch and a body language that says he wouldn’t mind punching again, he is remarkably calm, and seems all the more angry for it. “You wanted to _murder_ him!”

“What?” Steve repeats. “What are you talking about?”

“Tony. You meant to kill him and he didn’t even know. You got involved with him as if nothing ever happened and he _didn’t remember_. But you did. And you call yourself a paragon of morality!”

Steve would like to pretend he doesn’t know what the other man is talking about but he would be lying. It’s not something he is likely to ever forget. “Tony knows we fought,” he points out, raising his own anger like the shield he’s not carrying. “He learned all he could about what happened. Do you think he missed that we were enemies in that? And we talked about it a lot. Tony is not naïve, and he’s not clueless.”

“Yeah? Did you tell him, at any point, that you wanted him dead? That the man he’s happily in love with used to hate him so much he wanted nothing more than see him die?”

“I didn’t…” The lie won’t pass his lips because at that moment, he had. “I never meant for that to happen.”

“For what to happen? The fighting, or the fucking?” Rhodes sneers.

Steve sneers back. He hates that word and he hates hearing it applied to what he has with Tony. “I never wanted to fight Tony. Under the circumstances, it was inevitable, and I would do it again if I had to. We both would. We wouldn’t work otherwise.”

“I’m not talking about fighting. I’m talking about how you played perfect world with my best friend who never knew that you were going to kill him, actually _murder_ him. I know you; you don’t kill people. But you wanted to kill Tony, you despised him that much, and he accepted your love and _didn’t know_. That’s what I’m talking about. Or did you tell him, with exactly those words?” Rhodes stares at Steve with open challenge in his eyes.

There is nothing Steve can say in return that won’t sound defensive. He never told Tony. He’s never been happy that Tony lost his memories, even felt betrayed that he got off easy without having to carry the pain and the responsibility while Steve had to deal with it all on his own, but the closer he and Tony became again, the happier he’s been that Tony forgot about that particular moment. It was the worst of Steve’s life, one thing he _hates_ himself for, and he and Tony used to be the only ones who knew. When Tony forgot, it was a chance to rewrite that moment in time and erase it from history. And selfishly, Steve took the chance offered to him.

He never forgot.

He never got over it either. But this is something he was willing to carry on his own. There was never a reason to hurt Tony with it.

And now Tony knows. There is no other explanation for this scene.

There are a lot of things Steve wants—aches—to do. Defending his actions to Tony’s best friend is not among them.

He wants to ask, rather. How Tony is doing. How he’s taking it, all this shit no one would need in their memory. If Steve still has a place to return to in this world.

“You’re not the one I should discuss this with,” is what he finally says.

“Well, tough, because I’m the only one you get, and I’m not going to—”

”Did you come here just to say this?”

“It was an added bonus—”

“So you left Tony _alone_ — “

“He’s not alone, there’s—”

“What the hell, guys?” Pepper’s voice cuts through the discussion. At some point, while Steve’s attention was focused on the man before him, she’s appeared in the doorway and now she’s looking from one to the other with an increasingly darkening expression. “What’s going on? Rhodey, did something happen to Tony?”

“Tony is fine,” Rhodes answers unwillingly, not taking his eyes off Steve. “Or as fine as he can possibly be right now.”

“Then why are you standing here looking like you’re about to break into a fist fight?”

Steve resists the urge to rub his aching jaw and hopes it’s not going to bruise anytime soon.

“Actually,” the young man at the computer starts. Steve had pretty much forgotten he existed.

Of all the discussions he doesn’t want to have in front of total strangers, this is the worst.

“It’s something between Rogers and me,” Rhodes interrupts, darkly, and Steve has to be grateful for the small mercy of not having been rattled out to Pepper Potts.

“Actually, it’s something between me and Tony,” Steve clarifies and forces his body to relax, to signal that no fistfight is likely to happen anytime soon.

Pepper looks from one to the other with narrowed eyes but doesn’t say anything more about it. “Wolverine is in my office,” she tells Steve with the expression of someone who came back from lunch break to find Wolverine in their office. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Fantastic,” Steve says grimly. Logan wanting to talk to him indicates Logan having found out something of interest, right?

Rhodes and Pepper follow him as he makes his way to her office. Logan is lounging in the chair, one foot propped up on a half-open drawer of her desk, and he’s smoking the inevitable cigar. Steve has long since meant to ask him where he keeps those when in costume because they always tend to show up out of nowhere. He’s never dared, not sure he really wants to know the answer.

Logan is not in costume now. He’s wearing jeans and boots and a plaid shirt and looks one hundred percent like the Canadian he is.

And his boot is resting in Pepper’s drawer.

It’s not for long, however. As soon as the woman in question enters the room, the boot exits the drawer. Steve isn’t quite sure if that’s courtesy towards a lady, which Logan has been known to show every now and again, or fear.

“You found something?” he asks hopefully, pretty sure that he can’t take a negative answer right now. ( _Tony knows_ , Tony remembers everything and Steve can’t go to him clear things up, or apologize, or comfort him or do any of the other ten thousand things he should be doing.)

“Got ’em,” Logan confirms. “Not in person, though. I found their HQ but they bailed. Can’t be far, though. Their teleport is short-range.”

“Then what are you doing here? You could have called me while looking for them!”

“No point. They can’t be far but they could still be anywhere in the city, and a teleport like that doesn’t leave a trace I can follow. Gonna need technological help for that. If you don’t have anything at hand without Stark, the X-Men could help out, probably.”

“Good thing I’m here,” Rhodes declares and turns to leave. “I’ll get my armor.”

 

-

 

The scanners in the War Machine armor do the job. Logan leads them to the place their targets used to be holed up in and Rhodes does the rest. Steve hadn’t really dared to hope it would work, but apparently the teleportation device leaves a faint but traceable trail of ions in the direction it’s sending its users in.

The lair—Steve honestly finds it difficult to find a different word for it—is located in a basement underneath a factory. The factory above is still in use, but there isn’t much going on anymore and most of it is run automatically. The rooms beneath appear to have been used for storage once, but they are sealed and probably forgotten by almost everyone. They are vast, though. There are two very big halls with several smaller rooms lining them; some are filled with outdated technology, some might have been used as offices once. Now the storage rooms contain nothing but a few empty boxes, one large machine that looks like a sauce mixer to Steve’s untrained eyes, several dozen feet of cable and a couple of modern computer flat-screens. The attached computers have been detached and removed.

“There were six of ’em staying here long term,” Logan growls around yet another cigar. “Their smell got into everything. Six beds, too, in the other rooms. But two more came and went occasionally.”

“That machine is practically drenched in ions,” War Machine explains, the artificial voice so like yet so unlike Iron Man’s. “There are traces of it all around the place. If their materialization point is anywhere within scanner range, I’ll find it.”

And then Wolverine can pick up their smell and follow them until they got them. Steve feels his fingers twitch, feels the reassuring weight of the shield on his back.

“Why did they leave all this behind this time?” Steve wonders. “They never left their teleportation device before. I thought it traveled with them.”

“This one seems to be some kind of mother station,” Rhodes says. “It certainly doesn’t go anywhere. I’d say—but really, Tony is the expert on things like this. But I supposed all jumps are waylaid through this one, so there would be smaller, more mobile stations elsewhere that they removed when they were no longer needed.”

“If they had carried a thing like this, even smaller, down the streets of Seattle, someone would have seen them.”

“And they would have left a trail I could smell outside the building,” Logan adds.

“Well, then maybe they disintegrated it after use.” Rhodes sounds impatient, but with his voice being distorted by the armor, it’s hard to tell. “I scanned the basement you found Tony in and I’m pretty sure that’s what happened there. I’m surprised they didn’t do it here.”

“They probably would have,” Logan mentions. “I almost managed to take them by surprise, guess they barely made it out. They fried the electronics so I couldn’t reactivate the thing, but they didn’t have the time to place any explosives.”

Surprising that they didn’t have them placed from the start, just in case. Maybe this station was never meant for temporary use and they didn’t prepare for discovery.

Odd that they seem to be so well organized, yet made such a gross oversight. They have to have known about Wolverine—the whole world does. Steve has a couple of ideas about this, and he doesn’t like a single one of them.

One thing is clear: These people didn’t think they’d need security beyond a certain point. The conclusions he gets to draw for their ambitions come down to world domination or world destruction.

Yet something clearly went wrong with their plans, and Steve is looking forward to making them realize just how screwed they are.

They exit the building and War Machine takes off to scan the area from the air. Steve and Wolverine stay down and wait; they are both dressed in uniform and very ready for action. Steve called the rest of the Avengers for backup before they left the Resiliant offices, but it will be a while before anyone can make it here.

War Machine reports whatever he finds. The teleportation left a trail in the atmosphere, running straight through solid walls more often than not, but it becomes thinner and more diffused the further it goes. Steve begins to worry that they will lose it when finally Rhodes names an address and takes off in the direction of the building the bastards materialized in.

It’s more than fifteen miles from where they are. Fortunately Steve and Logan came by car; by Pepper’s car, to be exact. This is for Tony, so she will probably forgive them when they crash it, Steve thinks as he drives down the roads as fast as consideration for the safety of other drivers allows him to.

Not five minutes after he moved on ahead, Rhodes calls. “Tell Wolverine to move his ass here,” he says, with his real voice because the call connects him from the inside of his helmet. “They bailed and I need his nose.”

“Did you see them?”

“Do you think they patiently waited here for us so they could make a last-minute escape again? They’ll be eager to get as far from us as possible. Let’s hope they’re panicking and make a lot of mistakes.”

Steve and Logan reach the location not long after. Rhodes was right: The apartment is empty. There’s furniture, but it looks more like a hotel room than a place where anyone actually lives. It was a front, or a getaway address.

And it’s full of smell. They have what they want now. There is no new ion trace, but that’s because the people who came here left the place through the front door. People stare at them as Logan leads Steve down the street and Rhodes flashes by above them. But this is much slower than taking the car, and the guys they are hunting are not moving on foot, so with every minute they are falling further and further behind.

“Do you have a guess where they might be moving?” Rhodes asks after a few minutes? “I could fly ahead and check it out.”

A minute later they take another turn and both Logan and Steve have an answer for him. “The airport!” Steve realizes. “Hurry! And take Logan!”

War Machine sweeps down, grabs Wolverine under the shoulders and disappears with as much speed as carrying someone allows him. Steve stares after them even as he’s looking for a car or motorcycle Note 2 he can commandeer and thinks of the way Iron Man carried him for as long as he knew him.

 

-

 

The airport is not a commercial one. It’s small, for freight planes and private machines, and it’s pure coincidence Steve even knows where it is. Rhodes knows the location because he has a place nearby and Logan just knows things because he’s old and has been around.

It shouldn’t be hard to identify the owner of a plane that took off here even if they don’t catch them, Steve tells himself again and again.

He needs this to be over.

They are too late. Steve doesn’t even make it to the airport before the others report that their targets boarded a small private jet and took off to places unknown. After the call ends Steve curses for a good five minutes, but this isn’t the end of the hunt, he reminds himself. They just need to find that plane.

But of course, as it turns out, the name the plane is registered to is fake and leads them nowhere. They have no idea where it’s flying to. Once it lands at another airport they can get it back on their radar, but until then they are as close to catching these guys as they were in the beginning.

In the meantime, Steve alerts all the airports in the country, hoping that the small plane isn’t some modified high-tech wonder capable of international flight. Half an hour later he is sitting on the hood of the stolen car he needs to see returned to its rightful owner, with Rhodes standing nearby, his faceplate up and his expression dark.

“Why didn’t you find the ion trail sooner?” Steve finally asks what he’s been thinking about for hours. “They teleported out of the basement we found Tony in and you inspected it. It must have been there.” He didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation but it does, even to his own ears.

Rhodes scowls at him. “You think I didn’t check? I scanned for everything there is on the spectrum, but I couldn’t find anything, just the emission left behind by their teleport device self-destructing. It overlays everything else, and the trail is much fainter for the small ones. It’s a very specific frequency that I wouldn’t have found if the big one hadn’t been drenched in it.” He stops for a beat, looks away sharply. “I simply missed it, okay? I _missed_ it!”

‘It happens,’ Steve should say. ‘You didn’t know it was there. Don’t beat yourself up over it.’ He doesn’t say any of that and he doesn’t say what he _wants_ to say either.

They sit in silence until Logan comes back to report that he found the one person whose scent he picked up along with the others who did not board the plane. It’s a taxi driver who helped carry the targets’ boxes to the plane. He’s dead in the garage, from a small cut on his palm where they apparently poisoned him shaking hands. They weren’t seen on any of the few security cameras around.

“They won’t come down anywhere we can find them,” Rhodes states in an overwhelming display of optimism. “They won’t make that mistake.”

“They made mistakes before,” Logan chews out around the stump of his cigar. There are times he reminds Steve of Nick Fury.

“Stupid mistakes,” Steve agrees. “It doesn’t fit. They hadn’t even rigged their HQ.”

“Because they didn’t expect they’d need to,” Rhodes says aloud what Steve thought before. “Whatever they were planning to do, they either thought they could do it without being detected, or they thought that once they were done with it, hiding would no longer be necessary. And they certainly didn’t expect to fail.”

Come to think of it, the way their unknown enemies acted spoke of an awful lot of arrogance.

“They got something out of Tony’s mind and thought it would give them easy access to Resilient.” Steve frowns. “Is that really what they were after? Why unlock his other memories?”

“Might have been a side effect. Or Resilient was just the start and they are just waiting to use all the other secrets they got out of Tony’s hard drive.” Rhodes snorts grimly. “Or thought they did. Obviously, it didn’t work as well as they thought or they really would have come and gone with whatever they wanted and we would be none the wiser.”

“So the reason they failed is because Tony managed to keep his secrets,” Steve concludes. “And apparently they were fooled into thinking he didn’t. And now they can’t fix their mistake and get what they really need because…”

“Because they don’t have Tony anymore,” Rhodes finishes when Steve trails off, distracted by the icy cold hand that reaches for his heart.

The share a look.

One second later War Machine’s face plate snaps down and he takes off into the sky.


	5. Chapter 5

It happens like this: One moment Tony is standing in his office, in the warm light of the evening sun falling in through the window and a shell of numb nothingness, the next he’s on his knees struggling to breathe because Steve is dead. He’s dead without ever knowing how Tony feels—about everything, about him, and Tony can’t tell him now, and even if he could Steve wouldn’t care. He’s dead and it’s Tony’s fault. He’s dead.

Gone.

Tony has lost before. He doesn’t have trouble grasping the concept.

He curls up on his side and drifts through an ocean of grief. For a while, there is nothing else and in a way that’s comforting, that’s easy. There is nothing to worry about because all is already lost.

He shouldn’t let himself go like this; he has things to do, an organization to run. People who depend on him to make decisions for them, but he can’t, can’t…

Extremis is silent. There is only an empty ache where it should be and that is disconcerting, but more than that, it’s wrong.

Tony can’t deal with it. He climbs to his feet anyway, sways when an unexpected wave of dizziness washes over him. In the window he sees the reflection of the RT in his chest, the edge of it peeking over the collar of the oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. The same device he used to save Pepper. (But Pepper’s _fine!_ ) The _same_ device. The one Steve keeps staring at as if it were a time bomb.

The sight is so familiar and Tony doesn’t know why, except he does.

Sometimes Steve would trail his hand down Tony’s chest and over the RT and it always feels odd, the sensation of those large, warm fingers on his skin and then nothing, and then it’s back again further down, like there is a hole in his chest, or scar tissue thick like metal. Such tenderness, and in between, just the ever present aching pressure of that foreign object resting where there should be bone and muscle, and Steve would always rest his hands on Tony’s hips afterwards where there is only skin underneath his palms and bend his head when Tony leans in to kiss him but that doesn’t make sense, that never happened because Steve died before Tony could ever make a move and he wouldn’t have wanted it and Tony feels himself going crazy because he remembers the taste of Steve Rogers’ lips.

He remembers and it can’t be, it’s impossible, it never happened, but it did, and his fingers are clawing at the skin of his forearm, not digging deep enough to get the crazy out or hurt enough for something to be real.

He sways again, catches himself on the desk and half-accidentally, half-purposefully knocks the monitor down. It doesn’t break. The glass shade of the desk lamp does.

Tony grabs the biggest shard with his good hand and slams it into his arm, gasping when the pain hits him, sharp and real. He repeats the action when he feels the crazy crawling back and again when he is convinced that a glass or a bottle of bourbon would help him figure this thing out or, alternatively, not care.

He doesn’t know how many times he’s done it by the time someone grasps his shoulders and slams him into the wall.

 

-

 

“Tony! Oh shit, oh fuck you!” Jim doesn’t even try to stem the flow of curses spilling from his mouth. It really helps him not to panic, or possibly twist Tony’s scrawny neck. “I’m going to murder you,” he promises. “I’m going to murder Samson and that damn nurse and everyone in this building!”

The relief he felt when he entered the tower to find Tony amazingly non-abducted died a quick and painful death when he had to spend what felt like ten thousand minutes wrestling a sharp-edged piece of glass from of his friend’s hand which he has previously used to cut his arm to shreds. Jim doesn’t appreciate that.

He’s going to have _words_ with whoever was in charge of watching over Tony. Who thought it would be a good idea to leave him alone in his current state?

Apart from him, that is.

“God, Tony, I’m sorry,” he mutters even as he pulls the struggling man to his feet and drags him to the bathroom. “Here, sit down, let me look at that.”

“Leave me alone,” Tony says, his voice completely calm.

“Yeah, not happening. Give me your arm.”

Tony pulls his arm to his chest and claws at the cuts with his blunt nails.

“Geez, Chief, don’t be like that.” Jim tries to keep his voice light but inside, he’s freaking out. He didn’t sign up for this.

Who is he kidding? He signed up for this the moment he became Tony’s friend.

“Why are you doing that?” he tries a different angle. There’s far too much blood all over Tony’s clothes, it’s fucking dripping off him, he needs to _do_ something about that.

“Nothing makes sense,” Tony tells him.

“Yeah, I get that. Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t… don’t do anything.” Jim hurries out, to his room, opens his drawer and gets the syringe he had hoped he wouldn’t have to use. Fortunately, Tony doesn’t resist at all when he injects the sedative into his arm. It’s a strong dose; less than two minutes later, Tony lists to the side, but even those two minutes feel like far too long.

“That’s pretty strong stuff,” Tony mumbles like he doesn’t really care.

“Well, you’re not exactly making it easy for me.” Jim guides his friend so he’s leaning against the wall and won’t fall off his seat before he goes down to cleaning and bandaging the cuts. The disinfectant has to hurt, but Tony probably welcomes that. The fucker. He’s just living to make Jim’s life Hell.

His hand is cut as well, from the shard he was holding. Fuck. Jim bandages it as best he can but a lot of those cuts need stitches and he’s not going to do that. That’s what they have a doctor in the building for.

Jim is going to call him in a minute, after he removed Tony from this blood-soiled bathroom. He hoists the rapidly fading man into his arms and carries him down the corridor.

“I really hate you, you know,” he declares as he places him on the bed.

“That’s only because you love me so much.” Tony is almost gone and completely unashamed and Jim closes his eyes and wishes it weren’t true.

 

-

 

While the doctor takes care of Tony’s wounds, Jim calls Steve, currently hurrying back to New York, to tell him there is no need to worry, Tony is still safe. He doesn’t mention his most recent spell of self-harm or that it was Steve’s fault, though it is tempting, so tempting.

Then he tries to call Samson, but the doctor is still out of range. It pisses Jim off and also worries him a little, because the psychologist has to know just how bad a time this is to fall off the map, so something has to be going on.

It’s the downside of dealing with superheroes and their associates all the time. There’s always something else going on that distracts important people from the problem Jim’s dealing with at the given moment.

After all is said and done, he goes back to waiting, to monitoring the area and, for the first time in forever, to watching TV. Tony is out, he’s completely drugged and under and also exhausted and sick. He won’t suddenly walk into the room to find Rogers on TV, or Jan, or hear a reporter talk about his and Steve’s relationship.

Still, Jim is using the TV in his own room and locks the door, after telling the nurse currently with Tony to let him know when she’s leaving so he can start having an eye on Tony. For now, he only has an eye on Rogers, who appears on the screen as an archive photo in the background of a moderator telling the audience that Captain America has “finally given the long awaited interview in which he cleared up some misconceptions and gave an assessment of the future of America’s most discussed coupel.”

Jim sits up straighter. That can only be good.

 

-

 

“Captain America,” a woman’s voice is heard to the picture of Steve Rogers in jeans and a leather jacket moving into view. “You’re a hard man to catch these days.”

“I’m just Steve Rogers right now.”

“So I take it you take the separation between your civilian identity and your superhero persona very seriously?”

“Well, I try to keep it separate as much as that’s possible. I understand that Captain America is a public figure but I do what I can to keep my private life as private as that of anyone else.”

“And yet it cannot be denied that Tony Stark has always lived every part of his private life in the spotlight of the media. It can be said that his private life was always more public than anything business related he did. Yet there has been no sign of him for weeks. We all expected Stark himself or the Avengers to give a press conference long ago.”

“We didn’t give an official statement because we didn’t think the matter deserved any official statements. We will not hide it, but we didn’t see why we should act like our relationship was in any way of interest to other people.”

The moderator is seen again. “On the direct question whether or not he and Stark were sexually involved, Rogers replied—” and Steve’s voice is heard over his image: “I’d describe it as romantically involved before anything else. Tony and I are together, yes. We are _not_ joined at the hip.”

While he speaks, the image switches to the camera footage again and the woman asks, “But we never saw you and Stark out together in any way that could be interpreted as particularly romantic. Or is that a recent development?”

And another voice is head:

“Does that mean you and Stark tearing the city apart was just an elaborate lover’s spat? Was that really for political reasons or did you catch him cheating on you with the Hulk?”

“We started our relationship about eight months ago.”

The image switches back to the moderator. He says, “Not an entirely clear answer. And since both Rogers and Stark have avoided public appearances for the past weeks, naturally the question has to be asked if they are ashamed of their relationship, to which Captain America naturally replied that they are not.”

“We are not,” Steve-on-screen says.

“You say that, and yet you do it alone,” the female voice is heard. “Your lover hasn’t been seen since all this started. Does Tony Stark not share your opinion?”

“As you know, Tony Stark is a very busy man and it’s not at all unusual for his obligations or issues Iron Man has to deal with to take him away for weeks at a time. In fact, I doubt he even knows yet that our relationship has become public knowledge.”

A male voice joins the interview. “Are we really supposed to believe that Tony Stark, master of electronic communication and data theft, doesn’t know what’s been on the news for the last weeks?”

“Yes. I know this is not the story you were hoping for, but it’s literally all there is to it. And now, if you’ll excuse me…”

The moderator is seen again. “An amazingly vague explanation, as you will agree. Does it really satisfactory explain why Stark, who is usually seen on the news as either the businessman or the Avenger at least once a week, has been invisible since the picture of him and Rogers in an intimate moment came out?” The picture in question is shown again, the quality only suffering a little from the zoom on Steve’s lips on Tony’s hand that cuts out the ambulance they are sitting in, the doctor on Tony’s other side and the oxygen mask over his face. “And yet the days in which Stark was constantly shocking the public with partying and sexual adventures and misadventures seem to be over. So the speculation is inevitable that he set this up deliberately to get back in the public view with another personal scandal and used his friend Steve Rogers to obtain this goal.”

The interview again. “There are voices saying this is a publicity stunt,” the woman says, as if to confirm the moderator’s words. “Mr. Rogers, you have never been known to show an interest in men. You’ll have to admit that this comes a little suddenly.”

“Not at all. As I mentioned before, I make a point of trying to not live my life in the public eye, so unless someone was spying on me in my home, I’d like to know how those voices you cited would know who I have or haven’t shown an interest in.”

“There are voices that think he corrupted you.”

“Would they ask the same question if it were a woman with a reputation I hooked up with?”

The moderator comments on this with, “It’s obvious that Captain America isn’t comfortable discussing this topic, no matter how much he claims otherwise. One can’t help but notice how he never used the word “gay” to describe his and Stark’s relationship and keeps things general and impersonal when confronted directly with the issue of homosexuality.”

The male voice is heard again, accompanied by Steve’s darkening face. “I think the issue many people have is with how unnatural a romance between two men is and how, if a national icon like Captain America participates in it, it gives the wrong message to the public.”

“What message?” Steve asks back. “The message that it’s okay for _everyone_ to be happy? If that is considered wrong for this country then I should change my name.”

“Strong words,” the moderator admits, “but it sounds more like a political statement than a description of his love life. And the question remains: Where is Stark and why does he, who is usually so keen on being seen by the media, not have anything to say on this matter? Some people speculate that he is, in fact, not comfortable with the ramifications of this relationship or with the political statement it makes that puts a weight on everything they do. And perhaps he also fears for his reputation as a womanizer. So did he break it up with his old friend over this? Rogers, tellingly enough, was not willing to confirm or deny any rumors in this regard.”

“So you are unwilling to comment on the rumor that Stark ended your relationship in the wake of its reveal to protect his reputation and avoid the inconvenience this causes,” the male voice in the interview states, and Steve is seen looking annoyed and replying, “Tony will give you his own answers as soon as he’s able to.”

The clip ends with a shot of Steve jogging down the street and the moderator saying, “After this, Captain America fled from our reporter, obviously uncomfortable with the questions they were asking him. We are very keen on finally getting Stark’s statement, but only heaven knows when the man will find the time—or the courage—to give us the truth about his feelings and his motivations.”

A line of text appears at the bottom of the screen, referring to the website of the show for those who want to see the whole interview. Steve blinks at it even as the moderator starts talking about the drug habit of some teen star Steve has never heard of. The urge to throw the remote through the screen is almost painful.

Sure enough, his phone rings ten seconds later. He picks it up still reeling, hoping it’s not Rhodes.

“I saw you on TV,” Jan’s voice rings from the receiver. It’s Jan. Steve can deal with Jan.

“So did I,” Steve tells her through gritted teeth.

“Tell me that was edited!”

“You know it was,” Steve snaps angrily.

“Good. Because I would hate having to tell you that you suck at giving interviews.”

“I do suck at that.”

She sighs. “Then why did you give it?”

“Because everyone was telling me to do it.”

“Good point. But you should have talked to me first. I could have given you a few tips. And set up an official meeting, with pre-screened questions and a reporter who would not edit the interview to his or her convenience.”

“Never got the time to plan this, they just ambushed me as I was walking down the street in Seattle. There were three of them. I don’t even think they were working together. No idea whose boss is responsible for this, but I don’t think it was the woman.”

“We’ll see. If it wasn’t, people are going to get sued, and it would be funny if it wasn’t about you and Tony. How is he, anyway? No one tells us anything. We worry, you know.”

“So do I. I’m not really in a position to check on him every day. I don’t actually know much more than you do.” It pains him having to say that and more that it’s true. “Last thing I heard he’s making progress. I want someone nearby at all times, though. War Machine and I think the people responsible for this mess might come back for him.”

“Yes, I heard from Logan. Why did I hear that from Logan, Steve?” He opens his mouth to explain that he only just got back in time to see this interview and was planning to call her once he was done seething in silence, but she doesn’t let him. “If all this is getting too much for you, you need to tell us.”

“It’s not. I’m fine. I’ll keep you better updated, I promise.” She’s right, he has a job to do, and sometimes this job includes including his teammates in the things that go on. And remembering that Tony has friends who worry about him and would like to hear how he’s doing every now and again.

He’ll have to pass that on to Rhodes and make him hand out flyers. Yes, that is a brilliant idea.

Rhodes is only the fifth person to call, which surprises Steve a little. Carol is next after Jan, then Sam, then Peter, who just can’t seem to stop being helpful. During all that, Steve only snaps once, and he doesn’t quite remember at whom afterwards. Probably Peter.

“I watched your interview,” Rhodes says in greeting.

“I thought you had.”

“And then I watched the full, unedited thing on their website. You’re lucky I did, or else I would have come over and blasted your building to smithereens.”

“I was taken by surprise. What’s up? Tony didn’t see that, did he?” Steve really hopes he didn’t. He knows they have disconnected all the TVs and computers in Tony’s and his home except the one in Rhodes’ room, but Tony could have walked in while Rhodes was watching TV like he did when Pepper called. While Steve is thrilled that Tony is slowly getting better, it will get increasingly hard to keep him mostly inactive.

That he hasn’t tried anything yet tells Steve how much he’s suffering from the state those bastards left his mind in.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Good. If he had, we would have needed to have words.”

“Tony’s good. Completely oblivious to the shit storm you kicked loose. I can barely wait for him to come back to his senses and learn about it.” Rhodes sounds like he’s anything but excited.

Steve sighs. “Neither can I.” At least there is _something_ they agree on.

 

-

 

Things take another week to take a turn for the worse. This time it’s not Steve’s fault, or maybe it is because he didn’t pay attention, he didn’t work hard enough and he didn’t acknowledge enough possibilities. Not enough. That’s what it comes down to.

Steve avoided going out too much after his disastrous interview and maybe that contributed to it. There was a call from Samson in the middle of the week. He’s in trouble, won’t be able to come back for a week or two. Apparently Rhodes yelled at him and Steve could empathize.

Meanwhile, Rhodes continued to help Tony deal and Tony continued to improve. As far as Steve understands it the therapy they had for Tony was made mostly of having him tell them about his experiences, thus forcing him to get them in order. That’s how Rhodes knew about that moment during their final battle. It was something they needed to talk about when Tony was well again, Steve thought. Now he thinks about other things. Like the fact that they may never get the chance.

 

-

 

Tony reached the end of his story on a Wednesday and Jim was there with him because nobody else was. He was holding Tony’s hand and stroking his hair while Tony told him, with a halting voice, how he knew he had to destroy the registration database and all the other data he had stored in his head. How he tricked Maria Hill into activating the program that would destroy his mind. How it felt to lose everything.

How scared he’s been.

Afterwards he fell asleep. Right there on the couch, as if just thinking about that (God, he’d forgotten how to _read!_ ) had been so exhausting that his body and mind simply could not make it another minute. Jim pulled a blanket over him, and when Tony hadn’t woken up an hour later, he carried him to bed. This time it was his own bedroom he placed him in; the bed was big enough and Jim didn’t want him to wake up alone.

He also didn’t want him to wake up in the bed he used to share with Steve and find someone beside him who wasn’t Steve. (After everything, Jim didn’t want to confuse him, and he never wanted Tony to be disappointed that he wasn’t someone else.) He made him comfortable, and when he got tired himself, he lay with his arms around his friends to offer comfort and to keep him safe.

He couldn’t keep him safe.

It happens on Friday. Thursday, Tony stayed in bed, awake but shaky and disoriented and too drained to do anything. Like a raw nerve. Jim worried when he wouldn’t talk for hours and barely acknowledged his presence. This whole trip down memory lane was supposed to make it better, but what if it broke him?

What if it was too much? Tony had been able to take it the last time he went through this, but then, last time he didn’t have to bear it all at once.

Not quite.

When Jim came in Thursday night, he found Tony staring out of the window with tears running down his cheeks. He didn’t seem to notice them. In the night, he curled up and Jim curled around him, feeling him shake. Twice he was woken up by harsh sobs or a screaming nightmare. After the latter he didn’t go back to sleep.

The next morning he manages to get Tony out of bed, make him shower and shave and dress properly, make him take in some food. Tony remains numb and unresponsive through most of it. Around noon, he curls up where he is sitting on the couch and starts clawing at the sutured wounds in his arm.

Eventually, Jim finds out that even though the chaos of his newly recovered memories, Tony remembered Rogers and being with Rogers, after he came back. But he still didn’t know that Steve _had_ come back so he couldn’t connect the memories to anything he knew.

His emotions are still too raw, the newly discovered memories taking up too much of his mind for him to deal with anything else. He is still a little broken (a little more than usual) but Jim starts to think that maybe it is time to call in Steve Rogers and have him prove himself to be alive. Maybe, at this point, it might help.

Samson would probably have been able to tell. The one who knocks on the door instead, Friday evening when the sun has just begun to set, is a shadow.

It knocks on the window, to be exact. It knocks on the window of Tony’s bedroom with enough force to blow it straight into the room, and the window is not supposed to do that, it has been very specifically designed not to do that. It does it anyway. Had Tony been in that room he would have been injured by the glass but he isn’t so there is a small mercy, Jim thinks as he’s suiting up and moving to fight the intruder.

He’d have fought them with his bare hands if that would have gotten him anywhere. As it is, he can’t even see them with his naked eye, not really. When they move, they are like water, distorting the world behind them. When they are still, they are invisible.

They aren’t still a lot. They go straight for Tony, who Jim pushes and drags over to the elevator as soon as he hears the sound of the windows breaking. He pushes his protesting friend inside and then stands in front of the closing doors and has his suit fit itself around him—it’s fast, but not fast enough to protect him from a blast that knocks him backwards and pierces something in his side that hurts like a bitch and makes him gasp for air until the suit is done and automatically doses him with painkillers that could knock out an elephant if they so wished. Tony’s idea. For Tony, having painkillers and stimulants that can keep him going way past his breaking point ready in his suit is a useful installment. Jim tries not to follow his example too often, but right now he appreciates the precaution.

Pain can be so distracting when there is no other option than to fight.

The moment the targeting system comes online, Jim fires. He can’t really pay attention to property damage right now, but he knows Tony will forgive him. He doesn’t hit the bookshelf anyway but the guy in front of it, seen as a vaguely shapeless but still perfectly visible outline in the middle of the room through his suit’s filters.

“Your tech is crap,” Jim tells him as he’s flung back into the wall and—well, there goes the shelf after all. “No wonder you want Tony. But we got him first. It’s called dibs!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he notes that the elevator is moving, and he hopes, _hopes_ he made the right decision sending Tony down. Down means away from these guys who broke into the penthouse so easily, but it also means away from Jim who can’t protect him when he’s in the basement. And the elevator is pretty damn safe, but he still imagines them breaking it open, somehow, and dragging Tony kicking and screaming away with them while Jim is stuck fighting their buddies up here.

The guy he hit gets back up again. The other one comes at Jim from the left and Jim repulsors him in the chest from three inches away. He sails through the air for quite an impressive distance and while he does get up, it takes him a moment.

“Cute,” Jim comments. “You sure you want to do this? Because so far I really can’t see how you are going to be a threat to me.” He blasts the first one backwards for good measure and he crashes into the window. Which holds, because they really aren’t supposed to break.

Neither of them seems to be interested in talking to him, which is a pity. Throwing insults at enemies is never as much fun when they don’t get outraged over it, and beside that they tend to give away important facts while yelling at him. These fight in silence. They just keep getting up, even though Jim is hitting them pretty hard, and while he can tell that their defenses are rather advanced—some kind of energy shield, it seems—their weapons could be better. They broke the windows, but they can’t break the armor. Maybe Jim should just have stuffed Tony into the suit.

He hopes he can break their equipment, if nothing else. Would be nice to finally take a look at them when their camouflage is failing.

The call to the Avengers went out automatically the moment the glass broke. Jim’s communicator comes to live and Hawkeye confirms that they are on their way. Jim hopes they will hurry up. This fight isn’t taking a lot out of him and that make him nervous. The enemy has to have known he’s here and his suit as well. This feels like a distraction.

They couldn’t have known he’d send Tony down to the basement, could they?

The elevator made it down without any problems in any case, and the basement of this tower is the safest place in the city. It was designed to withstand a lot. It’s where Tony’s workshop is.

They both come at Jim at the same time. He punches left and right and his armored firsts go straight through their shielding and hit something that gives in. Not really well protected against physical force, it seems.

One of them says, “Ouch.”

“You can talk! That’s nice. Talk to me guys! Let’s become friends, get to know each other. You can start by telling me why you’re after my friend, because I tell you, he’s really not worth the trouble. No, really, he’ll drive you crazy within five minutes, So maybe I should just let you take him and then sit back and watch you get what’s coming for you.” He stops for a moment while the two outlines on his interface move back. “Okay, or I could just kick your ass.”

They hesitate before they come at him again, and by now Jim has figured out that they didn’t expect him to be able to make them out so well. Maybe he’s very lucky and this isn’t a trap after all but simply bad preparation.

He barely has time to react when he sees another camouflaged shape come up behind the window and aim at him. Just like the windows in the bedroom, it busts, and the force that gets through is enough to knock him into the elevator doors and dent them.

Much as he loves this suit, it isn’t the most agile thing in the word once it’s stuck in a wall of twisted metal. And whatever this weapon is, it could damage him. Especially if used by three people at once. Jim’s shoulder cannon is stuck; he tries to get his arm up and blast the flying guy out of the sky, but he can’t move enough to aim right.

Then there is a flash of light and the flying guy is blasted out of the sky and replaced by the red and gold metal of the Iron Man suit.

The other two are distracted for a second, and that’s all Jim needs to pull free and hit the left one with a repulsor blast hard enough to carry him out of the broken window. “Hey man, awesome to see you,” he greets his friend, because it is. He wasn’t sure how Tony was taking all this, but if he can pilot the suit and not attack the wrong people with it, he’s doing better than Jim dared to hope.

Then again, Tony has always been good at soldiering on for as long as he needs to, and as much as that can be a source of concern for his friends, right now, Jim doesn’t have it in him to complain.

“You okay?” Tony’s voice sounds a little strained, but strong enough. Jim answers in the affirmative, so blissfully pain free that he only remembers after a second that that’s not actually true. He doesn’t tell Tony about the wound in his side, though. The suit already took care of the blood flow and estimates there will be roughly another ten minutes before it will impair his performance, fifteen until he passes out if he keeps fighting like this.

He hopes it won’t take that long to get rid of their attackers.

And then it hits him that this is it, and they finally got some of the guys they’ve been looking for and if they got three, they are going to get the rest of them soon enough. For a moment he feels almost giddy, probably aided by the medication.

Of course it means they will not only have to fight these guys off, which shouldn’t be that hard, but also keep them from getting away. The Avengers would really help with that if they finally showed up, but then, the fight has been going on for not even five minutes, although it does feel longer than that.

And their attackers don’t seem to be interested in flight. Even the one Jim threw out of the window is back as a wobbly shape to Iron Man’s right. Tony does something that registers on Jim’s sensors as a flash of white and then the wobbly shape starts an even more wobbly descent. Apparently it takes that one all he has not to fall like a stone. Once they are done with the other ones, this one is going to be a sitting duck; they’ll just have to pick him up off the street when the fight is over.

This is getting better by the minute, Jim thinks, preparing to tackle the one still inside the tower and bring him down with the plain physical force they seem to be so vulnerable to, when Iron Man’s opponent in the air shoots something at Tony that appears to electrocute his suit. For a long moment, Jim’s sensors are only reading electricity, but there has to have been something else in that as well because Iron Man can handle electricity just fine. This, whatever it was, seems to have short circuited he suit; Tony begins to fall—slowly at first, because the repulsors are still firing, then speeding up when there is no input that directs the blasts so that they will keep him in the air.

It’s a long way down and Jim’s suit isn’t badly damaged. He catches his friend by the fortieth floor and carries him upwards, away from the people on the street. Tony hangs limply, maybe unconscious, maybe trapped inside a silent suit of metal. He doesn’t respond to Jim’s calls.

When Jim sets him on the roof of a neighboring building, Tony crouches unmoving, his head hanging, his palms flat to the ground. Jim stands before him, ready to fend of their attackers, but they don’t come. They hover near the top of the tower and seem to be waiting for something.

Jim doesn’t like this at all. He calls the Avengers again, learns that Captain Marvel, who can fly and doesn’t depend on transportation to get here, is about sixty seconds out.

“Tony?” he says. “You with me?”

Maybe Tony is answering, somewhere inside that armor where no one can hear him. Jim readies his weapons, prepared to blast those guys from a distance. He is better armed, better shielded. From this distance, they can’t surprise him with the weapon that took out Tony; he’d have enough time to move out of the way. Captain Marvel is on her way. He just has to make it another forty seconds.

Iron Man sways and Jim crouches beside him to keep him from falling over. He doesn’t take his eyes off the enemy, though, and so he never sees the attack coming.

Beside him, Tony lifts his right hand, the one Jim isn’t touching. Jim sees it out of the corner of his eye and far too late realizes that the weapon emerging from a hidden compartment in the armor is pointing towards him. And War Machine is a fantastic thing; in some points it’s better than the Iron Man because Jim uses it in a different way and these things are custom made, but Tony is the guy who makes them. He knows every weak point, and where there are none he can create them. So when the blast hits Jim, he really doesn’t stand a chance to keep it from impacting him in the worst possible way.

There’s also the point where he didn’t expect his friend to turn on him.

The force of the impact hurls him backwards and he sprawls on the roof, half propped up on the ridiculously small wall that’s between him and a long fall, at just the right angle to see Iron Man get up and stare at him, as if to determine if he’s finished off or not. Jim tries to get up but finds he cannot move. Not at all. The suit is completely dead. He speaks but nothing gets out. The interface flickers, running on emergency power. It’s diverting all of that to the life support unit that keeps him from suffocating while the armor is sealed from the outside. For all intents and purposes, Jim is in a coffin.

And Tony seems to be satisfied with that since he looks over to his new friends Jim can no longer make out and takes off. A second later he’s descending and then he shows up again, carrying some guy wearing a helmet and a breathing mask and light body armor. The guy whose equipment Tony disabled earlier, the one he stranded in the street. He carries him up to where the others are still waiting and then up into the sky and north. Jim’s heart is beating up a staccato in his chest, but it’s the only part of him moving as he watches them fly out of view to who knows where.

 

-

 

Carol Danvers lands beside Jim not thirty seconds after Tony disappeared from view. She yells at him to answer her and he guesses he does look dead from the outside, just an unmoving shell lying around here. Jim replies, but it’s not like she hears him. Then she’s gone from his field of vision and for a second he panics, thinks he’s been left for dead, until suddenly his faceplate is torn off and she stares down at him, eyes wide and full of shock and questions.

“Where’s Tony?” is the first thing she asks.

“Gone,” Jim tells her. He’s covered in sweat and possibly shaking. He suddenly remembers that he’s injured and thinks he can feel it now, like a weight pressing on his lungs.

“They took him? Where did they go?”

“No,” Jim says. “No. He went with them. Attacked me. That way.” He can’t lift his hand, but looks in the right direction. “Be careful. Hurry.”

She flies off, but not without triggering the manual lock for his armor. Jim is able to peel out of it, lying beside it in a heap when he finds he can’t get up. The Quinjet hovers above him later—seconds or minutes—and that’s the last thing he knows for a while.

 

-

 

It’s half a day before Rhodes regains consciousness and before he does they can only speculate on what happened. He wakes up Saturday morning and the first thing he says is “Where’s Tony?”

“We didn’t find him,” Steve has to tell him. “Carol followed him but there was no trace of anyone. They disappeared.” There’s bitterness in his words; naturally there is. And pain.

They could be doing God-knows-what to Tony right now.

“You’re not trying hard enough.” Rhodes looks at him like he’s personally responsible and maybe he is. Steve doesn’t try to defend himself, but he does push the other man back down when he tries to rise from the hospital bed.

“Don’t move. The doctors fixed you up but you lost a lot of blood and your muscles are going to need time to heal. Just tell us what happened.”

Rhodes glares at him. “Would you stay in bed while they have Tony?” he asks and Steve lets him go. He’s right.

He doesn’t offer help while the other man pulls the IV out of his arm. If he falls over, Steve will put him back to bed, but he knows he won’t fall.

“They did something to him,” Rhodes explains while getting dressed with slow, painful movements. His injuries weren’t life-threatening as such, but he moved around too much and made them worse than they had to be. He shouldn’t move now, but it won’t kill him even if there will be a price to pay. Rhodes knows that.

If it was Steve, he wouldn’t stay down if they nailed him to the bed.

“Don’t know if they controlled him or just the armor,” Rhodes continues between shaky breaths. “No, it must have been him. They couldn’t know that would work so well unless they got all the secret specs to both his armor and mine. He suddenly attacked me, then took off. But I have no idea how they did that. One of them electrocuted him before, or at least that’s what it looked like, but these guys don’t exactly come across as psychic.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Steve says absentmindedly and hands the man a shirt. “He’s in the armor, though. Can you follow him?”

“Not if he doesn’t want to be followed. Our best chance is that somebody saw them.”

Not a good chance. Steve rubs his face. “I can’t believe this,” he mumbles tiredly, overcome, if only for a second, by worry, regret and hopelessness.

The hand on his shoulder comes as a surprise; completely unexpected where he expected angry words or a punch to the face.

“We’ll find him,” Rhodes says grimly in a promise to both of them, and it’s the first moment of real camaraderie they share since James Rhodes first wore the Iron Man armor, an eternity ago.


	6. Chapter 6

The HOANU haven’t existed for a very long, as far as organizations with ambitions for global domination go. The have been around since the eighties, though, which explains why the men and women who founded them thought that “Harbingers of a New Universe” was a good name. They haven’t managed to do a lot of damage to the old universe as it was, but at least they have managed to stay mostly undetected through their attempts, which is more than a lot of organizations with the word "harbingers" in their names can claim.

They lasted, too, even though they never made it up to the status of being someone’s archnemeses, or even to being acknowledged as existing. That was never their ambition. Mostly, they operate from the background or hidden in plain sight, whenever they happen to have a high official or someone in a useful management position on payroll.

And there are many on their payroll. Not many know what the organization is about or even what HOANU stands for, but they have a network of agents and foot soldiers Hydra would be surprised to know about. And while they never did much by way of actively attempting to change the world, they did gather a lot of information and technology and made some interesting developments themselves.

Long-term was the plan in question. The people who founded HOANU knew there was no point in rushing things. They always intended to strike when the time was right, when their agents were perfectly positioned and they had managed to find a way around all defenses. If everything were over so fast no one even knew who struck the world and crippled it, that would have been fine with them. Ego was never much of a problem of theirs.

Poison, however, was. As were explosions. And car accidents. Even before HOANU got really big, some of its members saw the potential of their network and research and worked hard so they could move up the proverbial ladder. Some of the founders had since been killed off by their successors. another one for revenge, another wanted to leave and was killed for security reasons, and yet another one was smart enough to just leave without proclaiming it beforehand and be gone. He was found three years later, washed up on a beach in Southeast Asia where he had died in a sailing accident.

It became tradition, after a few years, to have the organization run by six people, each responsible for one part of the world. Those who made it to the top of the career ladder traditionally tried to fight the tradition of moving up the career ladder by murdering one's predecessor, but even if they were murdered for other reasons, murder was usually the way they vacated their positions.

Except for one, whose deadly car accident happened due to alcohol rather than anything else.

Daniel Serkwich never joined the organization. He just took it over. Originally, he had planned to start one similar to it; upon finding out there already was one that had most of the properties he was aiming for and was also active all over the globe, he decided to speed the process up a little.

HOANU has lost its focus over the years, he found. The global domination and change they started out aiming for had become little more than some abstract goal never to be achieved in their lifetimes. They were content being an exclusive secret society that made a lot of money behind the scenes and lost themselves in internal struggles for power. He solved those problems by taking all power for himself and reorganizing everything from the ground up.

There no longer were six leaders; that only caused problems and unnecessary discussions and people trying to swap the continents they were responsible for since no one ever wanted to be in charge of Australia. (Nothing ever happens in Australia, or so people believe.) Since the top of HOANU was so secret even from their own members, hardly anyone even noticed.

It was also him who pushed the technological approach of their endeavor. Knowledge is well and good, but they needed to find a way to use it, and technology is what dominates the world. Lacking anyone with serious superpowers at their disposal, it was the only way they could go. No one is going to take over the world with sticks and stones anymore. It’s not even about having the bigger stick these days. It’s about having the _better_ stick.

And where technology is concerned, Tony Stark is the man to go to. Naturally, no one expected him to cooperate, but that, it turned out, wasn’t necessary. They could just take what they needed, even if it was stored only in Stark’s mind.

Three years before he gained control of HOANU, Serkwich got hold of some Kree machinery that was left behind by a group of aliens who died in Peru for reasons he will never know and doesn’t particularly care about. While he’s not Tony Stark, he’s not a bad engineer himself, and he knew other great engineers and programmers even then. They cannibalized what they found, got it to work again, but it was only with the means HOANU offered him that Serkwich managed to turn what was originally a pile of junk into something that would soon give him control over everything.

Just the way Stark has control over everything. The man might not use it, but Serkwich never had any doubt that if he so wanted, Tony Stark could have taken over every bit of technology on Earth at any time he wanted and thus gained global domination in a heartbeat. The Skrull invasion underlined that with painful clarity; it even made Serkwich fear that his chance had passed. And not only his own. When Stark lost that Extremis enhancile of his during that disaster, it seemed to have put a damper on his technological supremacy, but then it turned out he didn’t need that to potentially control everything, everywhere, at once.

Even with all these people and means at his disposal, Serkwich had never been able to keep an eye on what Stark’s new company, Resilient, was doing and how. It was mostly due to its small size and the fact that all of the few employees directly involved in R&D were so trusted by Stark that Serkwich prohibited any attempt at bribing or threatening them into HOANU’s service lest it give them away. With the things they built from the Kree junk, it wouldn’t be necessary, he’d decided.

He was proven right when Resilient announced their swarm network to the world. Serkwich knew then that this was the chance he had waited for. While the product launch happened in Stark’s absence and the company no longer belonged to him, it still had his fingerprints all over.

But Stark had disappeared and they had to wait for him to show up again. Not that HOANU didn’t know where he was. It was more that they had no interest in getting up against a nut job like the Mandarin and his considerable local army, especially when they didn’t have to. Historically, there was little doubt that Stark would win this one and that the Mandarin would once again be defeated. And then he was.

Stark returned.

And HOANU still waited for the right moment, for a second in which Stark was alone and far from his armor. They didn’t need for him to be careless once the other circumstances were met, since without his super-powered friends and his suit, Stark didn’t stand a chance of getting out of their trap.

Not that trap was quite the right word. They didn’t prompt Stark to do anything to play into their hands, they just waited and were there when he did. In the end it paid to have someone in a building next to the Avengers tower who alerted them whenever Stark left it in civil clothes.

He was out with Captain America—or rather, Steve Rogers—that day, which wasn’t particularly surprising. Serkwich was quite amused in the weeks that followed when the media went crazy over their romantic involvement, having known about it for months himself.

All it took was one unobserved moment and Stark went down, barely even realizing what happened. It took his companion several minutes to notice he was missing, and that was more than enough to take him away and get rid of all traces left behind.

For all that he’d been watching him, Serkwich had never before met Stark in person. Seeing him in one of his cells—a special one without any electronics—was very satisfying, but also somewhat disappointing. While good-looking and fit, Stark didn’t really cut a very impressive figure. He was tall, sure, about an inch taller than Serkwich, who towered over most of his closest associates, and his body was firm with lean muscles, but he was also a lot narrower in build than Serkwich had thought even after seeing so many pictures of him beside hunks like Captain America or Thor. His clothes and hair and beard were very neat when they grabbed him. He looked like a businessman rather than a warrior, and while he _is_ a businessman, Serkwich had always thought he would be… more.

One should never meet one's heroes, or so they say.

At least Serkwich never talked to him in person. No one did, actually, since verbal communication was not needed for what they were planning. The only people who got in direct contact with the man for the first couple of days were the guards who stopped him when he almost managed to escape twice.

Which was kind of impressive, after all. It wasn’t like they had given him anything to work with besides bare walls and a bucket.

Serkwich allowed the guards to beat him, after the first time, because they didn’t need Stark physically healthy. Quite the opposite, actually. It was still a few days before they could finish their plan, so they needed Stark alive and more or less functioning until then and the guards had to hold back. Bruises and some broken bones were okay as long as it wasn’t anything important.

The next day, Stark actually made it to the front door. They kept him tied up after that and started with the drugs a little early.

After five days, the dosage was so high that the man couldn’t move anymore. That was the only obvious effect of the medication they were using: total paralysis of anything but autonomic body functions, which in Stark’s case are run by the device in his chest rather than his brain anyway. Thanks to that they didn’t have to be as careful with the dosage, and Serkwich appreciated that because otherwise they might have had to think of something else. They needed Stark alive for a certain amount of time, and the last guy they tested this on died of heart failure before they could finish.

The day they concluded that phase of their plan, Serkwich had his trusted men beat Stark up again. For one, it was a good way to see of the drug was working. When Stark remained conscious but made not the slightest move to protect himself, he concluded that it did.

Mostly, though, he had that done because the Kree machine works much better the worse condition the person whose mind is being hacked is in. Physical pain and a failing system keep the mental defenses down, and considering how strong-willed Stark is known for being, Serkwich decided not to take any chances. Not with the Avengers looking for them and closing in on them uncomfortably quickly.

The Kree equipment was too chunky to move easily, so there would have been no point in running with Stark in tow if the air became too thin. Instead, Serkwich gambled all on this one try, fully accepting that it would probably kill Stark. It wasn’t like they would need him afterwards anyway.

In the end, they made it with minutes to spare. Stark was fighting them even when he was dying, and his mind was far too familiar with computers, even ones based on alien tech, to not offer a bit of a challenge. Altogether, the process took the better part of a day, and when it was done, all they could do was secure the data they had and trigger the mechanism that would fry everything inside the machine before they got into their transporter and left, having set the station in their temporary base to evaporate as soon as the last one dematerialized.

And yet, it turned out that the whole thing was more successful than any of them had anticipated. They knew Stark had done something to his own brain during his fight with Osborn, had lost a lot of memories, and Serkwich had been worried too much crucial information would be gone. As it turned out, it was just buried, and their mechanism was more than able to unbury everything. For all intents and purposes, it had discovered the “undo” button of Stark’s mind.

About four hours after they made their escape from the temporary base, the news reported that the Avengers had found the missing Tony Stark in a basement in Brooklyn. Apparently there had been more time to spare than he had thought. It didn’t matter. Nor did it matter that Stark was still alive at that point and was expected to survive, since they had never sat him down and explained their evil plans to him, or even introduced themselves. Stark couldn’t give them away because he knew nothing.

Meanwhile, HOANU now knew everything they needed. The door codes to his tower and the Resilient facilities, construction plans for his suits, and, most importantly, a way to access the swarm were all there, once they managed to decode them, turn abstract knowledge into letters and numbers. It had worked perfectly. Stark had fought them, but in the end they won.

It took them weeks to realize that they had been fooled.

They tested their newfound knowledge on little things, at first. Like the bank information for Stark's private accounts. They didn’t take anything—it would have been a stupid thing to get traced by when they were so close to their goal—but to see if they could. The amount on money in those accounts was another disappointment, but then, the man had gone through some hard times lately and he doesn’t run a company anymore. He spends a lot of money on his suits and other equipment and doesn’t really make any. Still, it’s hard to imagine Tony Stark as anything but rich.

They tracked Starks personal cell phone, too, which was easy, even though it was never used after HOANU let him go. The news spoke of injuries that weren’t life-threatening and said that he had been released into the care of SHIELD, and without anything interesting coming up in that regard, they had looked elsewhere for stories and everyone simply assumed that the reason Stark wasn’t seen in public was because of the frenzy over his relationship with Captain America.

HOANU knew better, of course. They had people at SHIELD, if not many of them, and they hacked their databases with Stark’s knowledge. There was something wrong with the man’s mind. Apparently, they had broken it.

Not dead, but this was almost as good. And he didn’t remember a thing about being held captive. It was as if fate was giving them the go-ahead.

Until it wasn’t. Serkwich first got the horrible suspicion that something might have gone terribly wrong when the door code and identification override to the Resilient HQ didn’t work. But then, Stark no longer worked with them, officially. It was possible that they changed the system. And rewrote all of the computer code it was based on. Maybe there had been some kind of falling out between them and this was a part of the Resilient crew burning bridges. The data they extracted from Stark’s mind did not include this kind of personal information.

They tried Stark's codes at first and then they tried to hack the security with his knowledge about how it was structured. No success. They tried to hack the computer system, go directly into the swarm and make it follow their will everywhere on the planet. Surrender all data stored on it, use it to control all other computers as it could. But it didn’t work. It looked like it did but then it didn’t. Like a really good imitation of something functional.

Stark had fought them hard for something that was worthless.

Of course, had he given it up without a fight, they would have become suspicious from the start.

Understanding that they had been fooled was a hard blow to Serkwich’s ego, but it was an even worse blow to his plans. He had underestimated Stark. Even as they were using alien technology to hack his brain, the man had waylaid them and fed them fake data that was close enough to the real thing not to be immediately obvious. If he’d simply not given anything away, they would have tried harder until he did. This was clever. And took a damn lot of skill and will power.

Well, the man was a genius, after all. And not just in the engineering department.

Fortunately, he also wasn’t dead. After a couple of failed attempts to get anywhere with their plans and their department in Seattle nearly being caught by frigging Wolverine, Serkwich could no longer deny that they needed Stark one more time.

But Serkwich was no idiot either. He had prepared for something like this. Actually, it had been Arona, one of his more trusted assistants, who had suggested it, but he was not one to turn down a good idea just because it wasn’t his. He hadn’t expected to need it, but now he is glad to have listened to her.

He’s also glad they didn’t outright kill Stark, but left his survival to fate. If he were gone, this plan, at least, would have become impossible and there might have been years before another opportunity presented itself.

When they had the machine break into Stark’s brain, they also, on Arona’s suggestion, had it plant a receiver for remote control in his subconscious. With the way he managed to fool them, Serkwich hadn’t been convinced it would work until the team he sent to fetch Stark sent the signal and he willingly followed their orders. At least something was going well.

They couldn’t make him break into the swarm for them, though. The control didn’t go that deep, didn’t allow for them to use Stark’s higher brain functions. Hacking required decision making and judgment that would be seriously impaired by the control. If that had been possible, they would have just brainwashed Stark into working for them.

No, but they could easily catch him again by simply making him come. They could even make him fight off his own friends—in this case War Machine, according to the team’s report. Serkwich is there to greet them when they arrive, staying at a distance just to be safe but watching Iron Man land along with the others. An elegant suit, he has to admit, so powerful, fast and effective. They have never quite been able to create something like it. (Not that they were trying to. A fully functional battle suit with the protection of a tank and the firepower of a nuclear warhead is a little too high-profile for the way they operate.)

All they have to do now is put Stark into that machine again and get at it once more, this time looking out for any false paths he might be tricking them into taking. It will be tricky because they will have to hurt and drug him again, this time without risking death because they can’t let him go before they know it worked. More importantly, though, they have destroyed the one machine they had last time and it will take time to create a new one.

That is okay, Serkwich tells himself as he sees Stark take off his suit and hand it over willingly, his face blank. They have time. They have patience. That’s why they work so well. They don’t rush things and they won’t repeat their mistakes. No one will find them here. All they have to do is wait it out and keep Stark safe and secure in the meantime.

First, it seems, they will have to feed him. The man is far too thin, and he looks pale and wan, like he has been sick for a long time. Since apparently he’s crazy now, that wouldn’t be too far off. Fortunately, the mind control will make sure he’s not a high maintenance prisoner to keep.

Or so Serkwich believes until Arona tells him, two hours later, that they tried to make Stark eat and he just threw everything up. They had one of their medics check him over, and Serkwich was not above noting the irony of them worrying about his health after going through so much trouble to ruin it.

The next few days are almost business as usual. Serkwich has a team monitor the activities of the Avengers closer than usual, like the first time they took Stark, and just like the first time, the heroes around Captain America are looking in all the wrong places. Wolverine’s nose won’t help them because this time, using a combination of flight and teleportation, they didn’t leave a trail of scent behind. They were not seen by anyone. Their communications network is not connected to anything and the HQ is never contacted in an electronic way anyway. Some of Serkwich’s predecessors were paranoid bastards, and considering they were right to be, he had the organization keep up the tradition under his leadership.

There is no way to see them from space, either. Someone once compared their base with that of a James Bond villain, but Serkwich doesn’t like the comparison. Those bases were always destroyed by a smarmy Brit and his scantily clad girlfriend and the villain in question fed to his own pets. It is not an example he aspires to.

But Stark is no James Bond either. He’s a mindless puppet who does everything they tell him to do, be it “go there”, “stand here” or “repair this”. Even with most of his deeper knowledge of engineering blocked from use, he’s still very good at the simple stuff. It’s probably so ingrained in his being that he could do it in his sleep.

Ironically enough, sleep is something Stark gets with them probably more than he did before, because they can simply make him. Just like they can make him eat, and then wait patiently with a bucket until he throws most of it up again. Their control evidently doesn’t reach deep enough to keep him from having nightmares, though—there is not one night that goes without Stark screaming or crying in his sleep, calling for “Steve” or “Rhodey” or apologizing over and over. Evidently, the man has some issues.

They wake him up and he’s quiet and docile and calm. Serkwich should offer this surface lobotomy for sale to the medical world and give up in his bigger plans to live on an island surrounded by well-paid slaves. But then, money is something he’s had before. Only Bond villains who get fed to their pets settle for such small goals.

They have had Stark for more than a week when Serkwich finally gets close to him for the first time. There’s an idea he’s had, and he wants to supervise the execution himself. Has to, really, because it requires the kind of knowledge he doesn’t share with anyone, not even Arona or any of the others he sees no need for killing yet and who probably have no ambition to kill him.

He’s waiting in the computer room when the guards arrive with their prisoner. Their presence is not actually necessary; they could simply have told Stark to come here and he would have, but Serkwich is an old-fashioned and cautious guy who thinks that prisoners and guards go together rather well and should never be broken up no matter what the circumstances. Regardless, he lets the guards wait at the door of the large room while Stark comes over to him, within shooting range but too far away to see the computer screens, not that they’d understand anything of what’s being displayed on them.

Stark walks with fluid, almost graceful motions that seem to indicate a confidence he can’t possibly be feeling right now and mask the rather pitiful condition his body is in. If they could perfect their control to let him act more independently while still doing their will, they could send him out into the world to set it in their favor, Serkwich muses. They could take over politicians and scientists and important businessmen—a different angle than what he is planning, but altogether a good idea. Not executable in praxis, though. The only thing that makes this work so well with Stark is the fact that his mind is like a computer in many ways.

Up close, the illusion of health shatters. Stark is pale and actually shaking a little on his feet. He’s still thin, which makes his high cheekbones all the more prominent, and his eyes are strikingly blue under the strands of black hair that fall into his face. He’s attractive even now, even in the slightly oversized black coverall they dressed him in, Serkwich has to give him that. He thinks, briefly, of things he could do and then discards the thought in favor of stepping aside and leading Stark to a chair in front of a screen with a hand spread flat over his back and very aware of the knots of Stark’s spine underneath his palm.

As soon as he is situated in front of the computer, Stark’s fingers come to rest on the keyboard as if by instinct. They don’t quite sit right, the way they are supposed to be, with the index fingers on the F and the J key. The left hand sits where it should but the right one is too far up and to the right as if eager to get to the numbers. It probably has something to do with the fact that Stark usually doesn’t type novels on his computers.

Serkwich leans over him from behind, his arms reaching over Stark’s shoulders and typing in his own three passwords that open access to all the relevant programs. The first thing he does is open the code they originally pulled out of Stark’s mind.

“Do you recognize this?” he asks.

Stark answers without hesitation, his voice clear but somewhat toneless. “This is the code I wrote in order to fool you into thinking you had gotten what you wanted out of my mind.”

Very clear reply. True, too. “Was it hard?” Serkwich asks purely out of curiosity.

“No. It was already there as part of my security measures. I merely had to direct your efforts to what I wanted you to get.”

“You prepared for something like this?”

“I have very dangerous information stored in my mind. It needs to be protected even if I do not have the time and means to delete it.”

“Like the SHRA database,” Serkwich guesses.

“Yes.”

“Can you give that to me now?” It is one of the files he is very eager to get his hands on. Even if he succeeds in taking over the world as it is, the pleasure will be short-lived if he gets taken out by a bunch of pissed off superhumans five minutes later. They already have that database, of course, but knowing that Stark has been fucking with them, Serkwich won’t make the mistake of assuming that anything about the list they own is in any way accurate.

There is a second of silence, as if Stark has to think about it. “No,” he finally says, and this time, his voice sounds a little strained.

“I thought so.” Serkwich sighs, then perks up when another idea crosses his mind. “You do know the real identities of all the superheroes, do you not?”

“No. Not all of them.”

“But many of them.”

“Yes.”

“Then make a list.”

At once, Stark opens an Excel file and begins typing. Serkwich stares, his heart beating a little faster when he sees the names listed there. Superhero identities, real names, addresses of their homes, occupations in their civilian lives… if Stark knows it, he writes it down. He is very thorough.

And to think that they almost killed this man…

There are villains on that list, too. And people who have retired from the life. And superheroes from other countries. Crimson Dynamo. The Steel Guardian back three generations. All of the Power Division. Captain Britain. Sunfire. Alpha Flight.

Serkwich knew there were a lot of super powered people on this planet, but seeing them listed here makes him understand just how many they are. And how many they have to take out. They can’t just take care of the Avengers, the X-Men and Fantastic Four and the other American heroes. They have to get all of them.

At once.

“How do you feel about poison?” he asks Stark when the list is finally done, hours later. “Are all of those capable of being poisoned?”

“No. But most of them. I can add that to the list.”

“Do that.”

So Stark does. Everyone immune to poison gets a little X in a new line, and in some cases Stark writes down which poison would work when others don’t, or what substance the people in question are particularly allergic to. But a lot of names go marked with question marks because Stark simply doesn’t know. For those, Serkwich makes a mental note not to use poison or gas because the risk is too high.

By and by, they go through the list and several different ways of killing people. It takes them until far into the night but by the end of it, the list is almost complete.

It’s not the first list like this they have created. There has been one since before Serkwich took over; super heroes and other freaks have always been a source of concern, so everyone ever in charge of HOANU kept tabs on them as far as possible and collected all the information they could get. The law that forced superpowered humans and mutants to register their real identities seemed like a blessing. Much to their disappointment, they had never gotten hold of that database. Until now.

Their lists have never been this complete. Serkwich will have someone go through it, compare it to their old files, make corrections where necessary and add what was missing. Hell, he might as well make Stark do it. Even like this, the guy is a fantastic assistant.

Too bad they are going to have to fuck up his mind anyway, and soon. As soon as they complete the machine and set up the mass killing of superhumans.

For the mutants they only need something that attacks the X-gene, though history has already shown that some are always going to be immune to whatever they come up with, so they need back-up plans that are triggered the moment someone is not dead. Blowing up the Xavier Mansion in Massachusetts might be the easiest way to get rid of the biggest problems, though. Except Wolverine. In his case…

Maybe there is a good way to lure him into a tank of acid, or an active volcano, or shoot him into space. Along with the Hulk. And make sure they don’t come back this time.

They don’t have an awful lot of time to figure this out, because Serkwich doesn’t want to wait forever, and neither do any of the others. The superhuman problem needs to be taken care of before they put their plan into action, of course. That has always been how they were going to do it, and Serkwich actually finds himself grateful that they discovered they’d been tricked before they could attack the heroes, villains and freaks of this world—or at least those of the United States—with methods based on the corrupted database. That would have given them away even worse than the failed attempt to break into Resilient did.

And when they start the attack, there can be nothing, absolutely _nothing_ leading to them. Because some will survive—either by dumb luck, or by misinformation, or simply because no one ever knew about them in the first place. They will come looking for whoever killed their friends and HOANU would do well not to be in the path of their anger until they have more important things to worry about.

The Avengers have to go first. HOANU already is in the path of their anger. Whether they can find this base or not, they are looking for them specifically and the sooner they are gone, the better. They are making a lot of people nervous as it is.

HOANU has the means to do it. Just because they never used them doesn’t mean they aren’t sitting on an arsenal of chemical, biological and explosive weapons. The upside of groups like the Avengers is that they tend to gather in one place and can be taken out all at once. And in this case, patience isn’t going to work. They need to do it as soon as possible and make it look like it was someone else.

Serkwich addresses the issue with his More Trusted Associates to get their opinion, and they generally agree. The consensus is that they need a trap to get as many of them in one place as possible. And what would be better for a trap than the one thing they are all concerned with right now?

“Hey,” he asks Stark the next time he sees him. “Do you think if you sent out a distress call to your Avenger friends, they would come?”

Stark blinks at him. He looks tired; having worked here through the night, that’s no surprise. When he speaks, his voice is even a little hoarse, and that is just perfect. “They will,” he confirms. “Where do you want them to go?”

 

-

 

The call reaches them at a quarter past five in the morning almost two weeks after Tony took off with the enemy to places unknown. It’s Carol who picks it up first, and when she answers she hopes she doesn’t sound as exhausted as she feels.

The last several weeks have not been kind to anyone, but the last two were the worst. Ultimo returned. Reed Richards accidentally opened a gateway to another dimension, the way he _just did_ sometimes, that released a bunch of tentacle monsters into theirs. Some punk kids managed to take control of a Sentinel and tried to level Manhattan, apparently just for the heck of it. All of that are things the Avengers can’t ignore just because they have Tony to worry about.

So when Tony’s voice rings through the connection, sounding a little shaky and just as exhausted as hers, Carol’s heart jumps a little and she immediately presses the alarm that will alert all the others.

“Carol, that you?” Tony sounds a little disoriented on top of everything. Rhodey said he was being mind controlled or something, and Carol wonders how he managed to shake that off and escape.

“Yes, it’s me. Where are you, Tony? Are you hurt?”

There is a second of silence as if he has to think about it. “Yes, I’m hurt,” he finally says and immediately, Carol’s inner alarm bells start ringing as well. “I can barely stand. Need help getting away from here.”

“What about the armor? Do you still have it?”

“The armor is fine, but the repulsor in one boot is giving me trouble. Makes it hard to fly.”

“Well, at least there’s that. Tell me where you are and we’ll come get you.”

“No, that won’t be enough,” Tony says quickly. “I’ve just escaped their base. It’s huge, and full of weapons. They are planning on attacking the capitals of all states in the world with some sort of zombie virus. We need to stop them. Bring… bring everyone. The preparations have already started and we need to take them out all at once if we want to stop everything. There are several independent control rooms, one for every continent or sub-continent,” he adds by way of explanation.

“Okay, got it,” Carol assures him. She looks around, sees Jim Rhodes, Steve and Natasha Romanov standing around the room, listening intently and quietly. “I tracked your position from the call. We’ll be there in an hour. But Tony, how—”

Tony cuts the call without letting her finish her question and Carol spares a moment to stare darkly at the wall.

“So,” Rhodey says, his voice just as dark. “That’s a trap.” Though still recovering from his injury, he has been with them ever since Tony disappeared, helping them fight their various threats while cursing them and himself for not finding his friend more quickly. He’s grey with exhaustion and stress, much like Steve. The two of them don’t talk to each other; this is the first time they have even been in the same room outside a battle meeting.

“Yeah,” Carol agrees. “And a pretty obvious one, as well.”

Natasha nods grimly. “I have seen Tony fly across the world and fight super villains with malfunctioning armor while bleeding out from internal injuries. No way he would admit to needing help as long as the armor still keeps him upright.”

“The question is, do we fall for that trap?” Carol asks, already knowing the answer.

“We know where Tony is now,” Steve confirms her prediction. “Gather the others and meet me at the Quinjet.”

 

-

 

Just like Danvers said, it’s merely an hour after they made the call before the Avengers’ jet shows up on the radar they had Stark adjust specifically so it would pick up the aircraft that is usually shielded from detection. Serkwich, Arona and the others are standing around the controls, with Stark standing in the back of the room with his guards. The man has been amazingly compliant so far and he’s done really good work even without being able to fall back on his more complicated skills, but Serkwich won’t risk having him initiate the destruction of his friends himself. The chance of him breaking their control over it is very slim, but it’s there, and it would be stupid to test it when there is no reason to.

This whole thing is test enough, and really just a bonus to what they originally got Stark for.

“Are all the Avengers inside that jet?” Serkwich asks.

His aide shakes his head. “The Hulk didn’t board, and neither did Hank Pym. Seems those two weren’t at their headquarters when they got the call.”

That’s two they will have to take care of later. Serkwich didn’t really expect they’d get them all at once; what they got is actually a pretty good rate. “This wouldn’t kill the Hulk anyway,” he says.

“It won’t kill Wolverine either,” Stark mentions from the back. Serkwich half-turns to look at him and is met with the blank stare Stark portrays every time he isn’t specifically focused on something.

“We’ll take care of that. Wolverine won’t be a problem.” They might not be able to kill him, but they can incapacitate the mutant for a while. Decades, if things go well. Wolverine might be indestructible but he can’t fly. The explosion of the Quinjet will make him fall into the ocean below and probably be knocked out as well. Not for long, but long enough for the drones they have in the water to bind him so he can’t use his claws to get free and to take him down to the depths of the ocean. Maybe he can’t drown. Maybe be can. If he’s deep enough underwater, it won’t matter much.

Well, except to him, obviously.

“They will reach position X in thirty seconds,” the one at the controls, Irdid, informs them. Serkwich gets ready to give the command, finds himself smiling when he mutters, “This will be a day long remembered.”

Arona gives him a look. “Quoting _Star Wars_ , Sir?”

“ _Star Wars_ is always relevant.”

“If you say so.” But her lips twitch. He knows she owns those movies in three different editions.

“Ten seconds,” Irdid says. “Nine. Eight.”

“Fire at the count of one,” Serkwich orders, and Irdid does.

The explosion rocks the entire station. It occurs far above them but even down here, the walls shake.

Something groans, like shifting metal and the pressure of a lot of water.

The dot that marks the Quinjet on the radar keeps moving towards them.

“What was that?” Serkwich snaps. “Did the missiles go off _inside_ the base?” He doesn’t wait for anyone to reply to him but turns to Stark, who stands as unmoving as before. And he had nothing to do with the missiles being prepared and programmed, and the computer would have alerted them had he used any program other than Excel while no one was looking, but this is _Tony Stark_ , and if something went wrong with their programs, he’s their primary suspect.

Stark meets his accusing glare without any sort of expression on his face. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” he comments unblinkingly. “That was not the missiles. It was the first of your generators going off.” Another explosion shakes them, this time closer by. “And that was the second one,” Stark adds.

This is the point where everyone realizes that they are going to die if they stay here, and they begin to get nervous. Movements are made toward the exit and Serkwich doesn’t try to stop them. Threats of execution in case of desertion tend to lose their effectiveness once the people have to choose between certain death and certain death. Instead, he turns to the control platform Irdid just abandoned and puts in a code he never thought he’d actually get to use.

The lights flicker, for a few seconds, then are stable again. One second later they shut off only to be replaced by the emergency lighting.

Stark still hasn’t moved but everyone else has, and now Serkwich pulls out his gun.

Stark meets his eyes evenly with the gaze of a man who knows he’s won and that he won’t live to brag about it. “You have about ten minutes to get out of here before the whole place is destroyed."

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it.” Serkwich pulls the trigger and Stark jerks, once, as the bang rings about the metal walls. It’s unsatisfying to Serkwich’s cold, boiling anger, even when a few heartbeats later Stark’s legs give out and he falls to the floor. “Who knows? If you crawl real quickly, you might make it as well.” Hopefully, Stark will try. It would hurt and he would fight and he might think he can make it and be able to feel, just for a moment, the devastation when after all he doesn’t. Serkwich would very much like that.

He runs out, aiming for the stairs. Using an elevator would be idiotic at this point; they do tend to turn into death traps so unpleasantly quickly in situations like this.

When he reaches the exit, he throws one last look at Stark, but the man is still sitting there, with one hand pressed loosely to the wound in his stomach, like he doesn’t even care.

 

-

 

“Hey.” A voice sounds over the comm. System is cracked up, the connection already failing. “You copy?”

“Tony!” That’s Rhodes, speaking before Steve can. He also shoots Steve a warning glance, urging him to keep him mouth shut. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

A hoarse chuckle. “Blew up their underwater base. Good times. They will emerge about a mile from where you’re hovering, from the mouth of a cave. Get some backup and pick up as many as you can, will you? I’m sending you pictures of their leaders, so you know who to watch out for.” Sure enough, a data transfer is being initiated and seconds later, black-and-white security footage shows on one of the screens. “The dark haired one with the beard is the guy who runs the show.”

“I thought that was you,” Rhodes comments. “Seriously, Tony, couldn’t you have called us a little earlier? We were freaking out here.”

“Sorry, buddy.” There’s a gust of static, then the end of a sentence. “—thing I got to do.”

“What? Tony, repeat! You’re breaking up.”

“I’ve got—" Static and cackling noises. “—you guys lat—”

“What? No. We come and get you. Tony, where are you?”

There is no reply, only white noise. After a few seconds, even that stops.

“He’s still inside that base,” Carol says. “Right below us, about three hundred yards below the surface.”

“In the _exploding_ base?” Steve snaps. “The _underwater_ exploding base?”

“The same.” Carol sounds grim.

“He said the others are going to exit in a cave nearby,” Natasha points out. “So that would be a way inside.”

“Into the exploding underwater base,” Carol adds. “Okay, so who’s coming with me?”

“I’ll go,” Steve decides. “Everyone else stays here.”

“You’re crazy. You can’t do that alone,” Jessica tells him.

“And we want Tony to be safe, too, you know,” Carol reminds him.

“I know that. That’s not the point. But I won’t risk your lives if there is no need for it. All the bad guys are leaving that place, the only problem will be water and explosions. More people aren’t going to help. Besides, we need everyone there is to take care of what might be quite a lot of villains running from the fire.”

“At least let me come with you,” Carol insists. “I’m almost impossible to kill and stronger than you. I can blast through any obstacle on the way. You have a much better chance of saving Tony if I’m with you.”

She has a point and Steve is tempted to give in. He’s stronger and more enduring than an ordinary human, but chances are that he’s going to die when the facility is flooded or when something explodes in his face, and then Tony will be lost. But this isn’t just about Tony, and now they have reached their destination at the mouth of a cave, Steve has to accept that he can’t spare her here.

“You’re the best pilot we have in Tony’s absence,” Steve tells her. “Navigating the Quinjet that close to the cliff, getting people out of the water, is going to require all of your skills. I’m going alone.”

And so he does.

 

-

 

Rhodes goes with him. The discussion is short because they don’t have time for it and because War Machine is right when he says that he’s not an Avenger and Captain America can’t order him around. He’s also a very good pilot and could be of much help here but Carol can handle that on her own if she has to, and Steve knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Rhodes won’t stay behind as long as there is the slightest chance to save his friend.

“He might flip when he sees you,” the man says darkly. “Got all his memories in order but we never got around to discussing why you are not, in fact, dead.” And that seals it then. Besides, War Machine is heavy artillery and Steve might need that going in there.

He can also fly. For the moment they put their differences aside and leave the Quinjet with War Machine carrying Steve with his arms beneath Steve’s shoulders, the way Iron Man has done so often. The fly into the large cave that opens just above the current water level, keeping low to avoid the ceiling with its hanging rocks.

Beneath them, dozens of people, men and women of various ethnicities, are running in the opposite direction. Most of them are dressed in normal street clothes, Steve notices. It’s good that they are in the middle of nowhere with a team of super heroes waiting for them in the only direction they can go; if they got the chance to mingle with the population of any town, they’d become invisible in a second.

Some of them take notice of the two masked, respectively armored men above them but no one cares enough to slow down. They are all very focused on getting away.

Eventually, the ceiling gets so low it forces them to land. Immediately, Steve starts running, and War Machine follows, much slower where the tunnel they now find themselves in doesn’t allow him to fly.

There are hardly any more people trying to get out. Steve and Rhodes encounter two. One is so focused on getting out that he runs past them without giving much of an indication that he even realizes they are there, despite the fact that he has to squeeze past War Machine in the narrow tunnel. The other one sees them, turns around, and disappears in a side tunnel. As they run past it, Steve sees that it’s no deeper than five feet but he ignores the guy crouching inside in favor of the elevator shaft he sees at the end of the tunnel.

The ground shakes in irregular intervals with the force of explosions deep below. Steve thinks of Tony down there, maybe already dead, and it gets harder with every second not to throw all caution to the wind and just run blindly.

There are stairs beside the shaft. Steve throws down a look, sees them intact. Good. They might need them to get Tony back up here.

Three hundred yards down, he thinks. That’s not much. And then a good bit to the west. They are basically almost with Tony. Just a little further.

The elevator cabin is somewhere below them. They don’t even attempt to call it, but jump into the shaft, with Steve grabbing the line and using it as an anchor to let himself down quickly and Rhodes firing up his repulsors and flying down the shaft much faster than Steve can follow.

So when there is an explosion right beside him and the wall caves in and throws tons of rubble into the shaft, Rhodes is the only one hit. Steve, hanging on the cable two dozen feet above, feels the heat of the shockwave on his face and clings for dear life. When he can see again, he still sees nothing. The shaft is full of dust.

He thinks he hears the sound of water running.

“Rhodes!” he calls when there is no large gray battle suit breaking through the rubble he knows has to be below him. “Can you hear me?”

There is no reply. Steve tries the comm.. “War Machine, do you copy?”

For the longest time, there is no reply. Finally, Rhodes’ strained voice sounds in Steve’s ear. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m a little stuck. You need to go on without me, I’ll catch up.”

“The shaft is blocked.”

“I noticed that. I’m one of the things blocking it. Take the stairs.”

Steve looks around. There’s an exit from the shaft a few yards above him, so he climbs up and throws his shield at the flimsy doors as well as he can while hanging from the cable. The doors do him the favor of breaking on the first attempt and he swings himself into the corridor behind them, hoping desperately that it’s not a dead end.

He’s lucky. The access to the stairs is free and while some of the steel steps are missing or bent out of shape, there is enough left of them to run all the way down.

Long corridors await him in the dim light of emergency lamps, with rooms left and right and more corridors branching off. There is no map. Steve could easily get lost here. “Captain Marvel, directions,” he snaps into his comm., but it’s Clint who answers.

“Tony is about fifty yards from your current position, southwest. No, the other southwest,” he adds when Steve starts moving again.

“I have no means of orientation down here. Just tell me when I’m moving the right way.”

He gets the direction right soon enough, runs with water splashing left and right, has to take several detours when he runs into dead ends or the corridors are blocked by rubble. At some point he takes a short cut through some kind of laboratory and has to smash a window to pass to the next room. He jumps through the frame and lands in knee-high, icy-cold water.

There is water running down the walls. There was before, but never as bad as here. He imagines Tony unconscious on the ground, drowning in two feet of water, and starts smashing a metal door with his shield when it won’t yield.

At least the explosions seem to have stopped.

“Captain Marvel here,” Carol’s voice suddenly sounds in his ear. “I got War Machine out. He’s fine but the suit is trashed. He can’t help you.”

“You can help me by telling me if I’m still going the right way.” The door finally gives in and the water flows out of the room and into the corridor beyond, nearly pulling Steve off his feet and flushing him out. He finds his balance and starts running as soon as he can, the now much shallower water allowing him to move faster.

“You are. Thirty yards straight ahead.”

It was fifty yards what feels like an hour ago. This maze of corridors and rooms is taking far too much time to navigate through.

“Did you hear anything from Tony?” Steve knows the question is stupid; if Tony had called, they would have told him.

“No, Cap. But keep in mind that we don’t know if he moved since we had contact. He might well be on his way out.”

“I know.” Steve hopes he is, hopes he’s not floating dead in a puddle somewhere. A door opens to him willingly, another is blocked by something on the other side and he has to find another way once again. Fine smoke fills the air and the whole base groans under the weight of the water surrounding it.

Eventually he makes it to a room that looks like a control center. It’s not the first Steve has seen on his way through this base, but it’s the biggest one. The ground is slightly tilted; he can tell from the way the water is pooling on one side of the room, slowly rising. It’s trickling down the walls. The whole room feels chilly and wet. Chairs are thrown over, computers spit sparks into the air. This is where Tony called them from and when he can’t find him, Steve hopes against hope that he made it out and did not go somewhere else in this base where Steve might never find him. He sounded like there was something he wanted to do.

Steve should have brought Wolverine but it seemed like the mutant was more needed on the surface dealing with all the bad guys, and now it’s too late to call him down.

Steve is about to call Carol and ask if Tony made it out yet when he sees the blood on the floor.

It’s watered down and mostly washed away. In the light of the flickering emergency lamps, only Steve’s super human eyesight allows him to make it out at all. Just a dissolving red shot left in all the water, beside a block of steel that has crashed through the ceiling, tearing the hole most of the water streams in through. Next Steve makes out a leg, unmoving and almost invisible in black pants and sneakers.

For one terrible moment, Steve is convinced the block landed on Tony and crushed him.

But it didn’t. Tony is lying behind the block, a good bit behind it even. He is wet all over and with the black coverall they dressed him in, it’s impossible to tell what is water and what is blood. But the water running from beneath his back towards the ever-growing puddle that is lapping at Tony’s outstretched hand is dark. One hand is lying on his stomach; not applying any pressure, just resting there. Tony’s eyes are closed, long black lashes resting on white cheeks, and his mouth is slack and he doesn’t move when Steve removes the hand and presses his own to Tony’s stomach to have it come back red.

Steve hasn’t seen Tony in weeks. Tony doesn’t even know he’s alive.

The next thing he does is press his fingers to Tony’s neck to find a pulse that is fluttering weakly against his touch. Someone left a sweater hanging over the back of a chair and Steve tears it to strips and wraps them tightly around Tony’s body, hoping this is the only wound and that there’s still time. As Steve moves him, Tony sighs softly against his neck but doesn’t wake up.

He never even attempted to make it out. He called them and knew he was dying and didn’t say goodbye.

Something comes loose above them and the water begins to rush faster through the hole in the ceiling. Steve doesn’t have time to be as careful as he should be, but Tony doesn’t complain when he’s roughly hoisted into Steve’s arms. He hangs limply, deathly pale and cold and almost weightless to Steve’s strength.

 

-

 

Steve is silent for about a minute after finding Tony. “We’re coming out now,” he tells Carol when he calls again, his voice emotionless. “Have the medical unit ready.”

“Roger that.” Carol bites her lips, anxious to go out there and help Steve get Tony to safety. Get them both to safety before the base can collapse on top of them. Considering it hasn’t yet, Carol is pretty convinced that Tony rigged the explosions so that they wouldn’t destroy everything, possibly in case not everyone could make it out in time. He probably didn’t want to kill anyone if it could be avoided.

He still did a lot of damage and the place might yet be completely flooded. With Steve now knowing the way, Carol estimates about ten minutes for him to get out, even if he has to carry someone.

According to his brief report, Tony has at least a stomach wound where he was stabbed or shot and is unconscious. Carol glances over to Jim Rhodes, who is sitting on a bench with blood seeping through the bandage around his leg, staring down at the cave and the people who are being contained by Wolverine, Spider-Woman and Thor just at the water’s edge waiting to be picked up by SHIELD. His fingers are digging into the upholstery and it’s not because he’s in pain. Stomach wounds kill.

Time stretches endlessly. Carol checks the clock, sees that merely two minutes have passed. Absolutely no reason to worry yet. According to the sensors, the base is holding up, but she has no idea how it looks inside. There was the explosion that almost killed Rhodey, and Steve said some of the corridors are flooded. And Tony might be dying. Steve needs to hurry the fuck up.

Thor has grabbed a man by the neck who Carol thinks might be the leader of this bunch. She would like to do nothing more than go down and tell him that his base is intact and more or less safe; that he ran out and into the Avenger’s arms for no reason at all. Just to see his face. And then she would like to bash his teeth in.

Six minutes. “Cap, where are you?” she asks because she needs to make sure they’ll make it.

“Almost at the stairs.” Steve is still speaking in this toneless voice that says he’s completely focused on getting them out. The stairwell is long, broken; getting up it will take a while and is dangerous. Carol shouldn’t distract him, but she can’t help it. When she calls again three minutes later, she only gets a breathless “Roger” in acknowledgement. It’s enough for her.

Nearly another five minutes pass before they finally come into view, emerging from the shadows of the cave and making their way towards where the Quinjet is awaiting them, hovering so closely over the water every other wave gets vaporized by the engines. Steve isn’t running like she thought he would. He’s limping slightly and bleeding from a cut in his shoulder. Tony is a long, thin, dark shape in his arms.

Rhodes tries to get to them the moment they come aboard, but his wound causes him to fall. Carol sees it out the corner of her eye while she brings the jet to a comfortable height and away from the cliff. As soon as she can she lets her co-pilot, Natasha, take over the controls and runs back to where Steve is leaning against the wall, Tony still in his arms. Not entrusted to the medical unit. Not moving at all.

Jan is standing before him, holding Tony’s limp hand in hers. “Oh God, Steve,” she says quietly. “Steve, he’s—”

“I know,” Steve interrupts her, as if he can’t bear to have it said. “I know.” He makes a sound like a sob. “I couldn’t leave him there.”

It’s Rhodey who breaks the long silence that follows with a sound that Carol never wants to hear again.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

_The day has been long. It hasn’t been special, not in the context of Steve’s life, but it was long and exhausting and hard. But successful. The creatures that emerged from the sea had been fought back until Namor stepped in and took over. The avatar of an old pagan goddess who threatened to destroy Boston had turned out to be more of a challenge. Iron Man had been fighting that one for days and it just kept growing and becoming more powerful. It also cut off all communication so Steve never even heard about it until it grew so big people could see it from a distance and the news picked up on it. The sea creatures still needed to be dealt with, so Steve could only send half his team to help Tony. In the end, it took all of them to free the possessed archaeologist and banish the goddess to whence she came from._

_It was nothing special, considering. It was just one of those days._

_For Tony, though, it was one of those weeks._

_If he’s honest with himself, Steve likes those days. Not while they are going on, with the threats and the adrenaline and the responsibility to make sure everyone is safe, but when they are over, and no one died, and they come down from the adrenaline high with the kind of heavy, satisfied exhaustion that comes with knowing they did good. When he’s still shaking a little over what_ might _have happened and every fiber of his being is made of relief and pride._

_Pride in what they do. Pride in his team and in this man standing next to him, who proved once again that he deserves to be one of them; that it was right to forgive him and place their trust in him over and over again._

_Tony is standing beside Steve, leaning against the metal fence encircling the balcony, looking out over the city of New York and at the stars above and for a moment, just now, Steve knows they are seeing exactly the same thing. They are standing close enough to touch and Tony’s shoulder is almost level with Steve’s. Slimmer, though. The shirt that rests loosely on his skin would stretch tightly over Steve’s. Steve turns and Tony’s eyes are almost level with his, too, and blue even in the silvery moonlight. His gaze, resting on Steve, is very calm, but his lips are slightly parted as if his heart underneath the light in his chest were beating fast, like Steve’s._

_Steve’s hand fits perfectly against Tony’s cheek, though, when he turns his head just so, to have a better angle, and when their lips finally meet it doesn’t feel like a first time either._

_It feels like something Steve will carry with him, through the good and the bad._

_Then Tony turns until he’s flush against Steve and his arms wrap around Steve’s neck and Steve’s hands rest on Tony’s hipbones, just above the waistband of his pants, and suddenly he feels like a teenager, nervous and giddy and so very large, larger than life. He doesn’t know if he’s felt this way before._

_He thinks maybe this is something new._

 

-

 

Finally, eventually, things calm down. They had to inform Hank, and Bruce, and… other people. Like Pepper Potts. It’s up to Potts to get word out to anyone else who might care. To handle the press, too. Carol is glad that that’s the problem of someone else and doesn’t have the energy to hate herself for being so selfish.

Everyone at the mansion is very quiet, the way they always are after something bad happened; like they think any noise above a whisper will be inappropriate and rude. So they open doors slowly and set down their coffee cups quietly and barely speak. Even the ones who didn’t like Tony very much. The only noise comes from the kitchen where, Jarvis does the dishes by hand, ignoring the dishwasher. It sounds like water splashing everywhere, like children playing in a bathtub or fighting a war. No one goes in there, not even for coffee or beer.

Carol spends time with Tony. A lot. She sits beside him and takes in the way the borrowed clothes sit so loosely around his thin frame. His hands are long and slender and scarred; both have cuts on them: one from something cutting in his palm, the other from the surgery, when they set his shattered bones weeks ago. It never completely healed.

His hair has grown out of the expensive cut but his beard is well maintained. Carol thinks it’s funny that they let him shave even when they thought they controlled him somehow. They never did. Rhodey knew that from the beginning, because if Tony had wanted to kill him he would have. But he was stupid to go with them like he did. Carol hates him for that and wonders if he planned this outcome, then hates herself for the thought. That isn’t like Tony. It’s like giving up.

Planned, no. Anticipated, probably. And easily accepted. Maybe it’s okay to hate him a little. She can’t even have a drink over this and that is his fault, too.

She hates that someone, eventually, will have a drink or two in his honor and then she will have to punch them in the face. She knows she will do that.

Tony’s face is pale and his cheeks hollow, his eyes bruised and his lips blue. He looks horrible, like he hasn't slept in weeks. He was unconscious when Steve found him, so he never knew someone came for him. For all they know he died believing Steve to be dead and blaming himself for it.

Carol cries over that. She cries over a lot of things and remembers the times she cried on Tony’s shoulder. Somehow that was always okay when it was Tony. It’s okay now, too, because no one will come in here and Tony won’t tell. When she is done, she will leave as well and never see him again.

She takes her time. Then she leaves. The click of the door shutting behind her doesn’t sound final. For a while she leans against the wall and doesn’t think anything at all. Eventually she becomes aware that she’s hoping for an invasion, or Doombots, of Richards fucking with interdimensional portals because that would tell her what to do now. Nothing happens before she finally gives up waiting and walks away.

The door that leads to Tony’s old workshop is half open. Voices ring from it, loud and agitated. When she comes closer, she recognizes Steve and Rhodey and makes out fragments of what they say.

“—come off your fucking high horse!”

“—hadn’t left him alone to come to Seattle—”

“—had nothing to do with it and you know it. Don’t pin this on me! You were the one who—”

“If you’d called us sooner we could have stopped him before he left with them!”

“If _you_ had been faster we could have! If you hadn’t let this—”

Carol turns away and leaves. This is none of her business. She’s sure there will be punches soon and that is none of her business either.

On the way to the front door she passes the kitchen. The door is closed and everything is silent on the other side. The front door is open because Logan is standing outside, smoking. The sun is warm on her face when she walks past him and takes off into the cloudless sky. It’s a beautiful day.

 

-

 

A day passes. Steve can tell, because he remembers the sun going down and rising and going down again. By the morning of the second day, he lies on his old bed in his old bedroom and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t know what to do. It feels like there is no reason to do anything.

He’s lost loved ones before. It never gets any easier.

There’s no manual for it.

Sometimes, it happened during a crisis, in the minds of battle, and there was time for shock and rage but no time for grief. This is worse.

“Tony,” he whispers, and the name already sounds hollow.

Hank Pym and Hank McCoy want to perform an autopsy. Steve doesn’t see the point—Tony was shot, that’s what killed him—but they think the guys who held him might have done more to him. In the end, Steve didn’t protest. It’s not Tony anymore, anyway. It was Tony. Once.

He gets up once the sun has fully risen. Forces himself to shower and to dress in fresh clothes. Forces himself to go to the kitchen and eat. He manages a muffin (fresh, someone baked them last night) and half a sandwich. There’s no one else around. The mansion feels empty.

Steve told himself not to do it, but eventually he ends up going to Tony’s old room where they placed his body after coming home. It’s empty, too. They already took him away.

Steve sits on the edge of the bed. The sheets still bear the vague outline of Tony’s body, and he finds himself smoothing them over until the impression is gone. He doesn’t need any more ghosts in his life.

There are none of Tony’s things in here; he’s been gone for too long, has never really stayed here after the mansion was rebuilt. It’s just an empty room that doesn’t even have his impression on the bedsheets.

Someone else will have it one day, probably. Maybe someone Steve doesn’t even know yet, someone who never met Tony Stark in person. Maybe…

Life goes on and right now, Steve hates that.

There’s the sound of uneven footsteps and then Rhodes appears in the door. He’s walking with the help of a cane and his right hand is bandaged where he sprained his fingers on Steve’s jaw and he’s sporting a black eye. This time he doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t look surprised to find Steve here either.

“You know,” he says, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Tony had a lot to say to you when you were dead.”

Steve feels like he’s expected to defend himself. He didn’t come to this room when Tony was still here. What he says is, “There are a lot of things I should have said to him while he was still alive.”

“True,” Rhodes agrees. “Well, too late for that now. I really can’t wait to hear what you’ll tell the world on his funeral. Provided you can find the time to show up this time.”

Steve closes his eyes, his shoulders sagging. He can’t begrudge the man his bitterness. But he has lost a lot, too, and it’s only just beginning to hurt.

Rhodes comes limping over, sits on the foot end of the bed. Steve doesn’t say anything, so they sit in silence, and somehow Steve doesn’t mind the company. They are alone together. No one is really touching the other’s space.

“I can’t remember how often I have cursed the fact that I ever let Tony Stark become my friend,” Rhodes eventually says, but his voice is quiet and it sounds like he is talking to himself. “The truth is, I can’t imagine my life without him.”

He and Steve might have become friends had either of them ever bothered to try.

 

-

 

It’s not the first time Jim has had to bury his best friend. It’s not even the first time he has had to bury this particular best friend. Turns out, repetition doesn’t make it any easier.

The date for the funeral is officially announced by the media and it just feels surreal and wrong. For a few hours, Jim isn’t even sure he’ll go.

It’s a week from now. He doesn’t have to plan it, he’ll just have to be there. Not that Tony cares. But Pepper will come and he won’t let her go alone. She has her boyfriend, sure, and the other guys from Resilient, and he’s pretty sure Henry Hellrung will show, but it’s not the same. Of the old gang, her and Jim are the only ones who are left.

He’s going to Seattle tomorrow. There’s no point in staying here any longer, watching Rogers wander the mansion like his own ghost.

Villains, of course, have no sense of tact or timing. Doctor Octopus, of all fucking people, has some moronic plan he thinks he needs to carry out barely two days after Captain America carried Tony’s corpse out of a cave and Jim is almost convinced he does it only to fuck with them. If so, he’s even more stupid than his plan indicates; everyone is pissed and hurting and just aching to go out and smash something. Jim would be the first in line, leg injury or not, but his suit was damaged when the elevator shaft collapsed on it and is out of commission.

It’s the realization that there is no one around to fix or improve it anymore than makes Jim lock himself in a bathroom and not come out for two hours.

The people who kidnapped Tony and broke his mind and then kidnapped him again are being held on the Helicarrier. Jim is going to go there before he visits Pepper. The man who shot his friend is up there, too, and Jim is going to see him, and just let Hill attempt to stop him.

The two Hanks are performing their autopsy on Tony right now, though, and Jim wants to wait and see if there is anything else he needs to see this man about.

He thought about going down and watching, but there are some things he doesn’t need to see. Jim has sat through some autopsies before, but he doesn’t want this to be the last image of Tony to get burned into his mind. Instead he waits. Sits in the guest room they gave him and stares at the wall and tries to avoid everyone and not to plan murder.

The others are still dealing with Doc Ock. Jim doesn’t think they really need that long, but maybe they don’t want to come back here and decided to work off some steam. Maybe the problem really is bigger than he thought. He deliberately doesn’t check, knowing it would drive him crazy if he was needed and couldn’t do anything to help.

So only Jim, Jarvis and the two Hanks are in the mansion when one of the Hanks—Hank Pym—comes running up the stairs and very excitedly tells them that Tony is not, in fact, dead.

 

-

 

Everyone else is coming back now, but for a moment, Jim gets to be alone with this knowledge. He and Jarvis, who stares wide eyed for a moment and then just walks away. Jim feels very much the same way. He was so lost in grief that now he doesn’t have to be anymore, he doesn’t know how to feel.

First, he calls Pepper. She can’t tell him how to feel either, but she seems pretty secure in her own emotions.

Crying and cursing are the way to go, it seems. Jim doesn’t do that.

Well, maybe he cursed a little bit. He doesn’t really remember. Meanwhile, Hank Pym is beginning to freak out some, because apparently they discovered that Tony is alive after they cut him open and his heart, barely visible underneath the RT that they were just about to remove, started beating again.

What’s worse, Hank seems half-convinced that Tony was more-or-less conscious this whole time, just paralyzed in a near-death state that _somehow they missed_.

Jim nearly decks him over that. He missed that as well but Hank and Hank are scientists and it’s their fucking job to notice things like that. Actually, he has decked people for a lot less than cutting his buddy open while he was helpless and fucking awake to experience it.

Jim really hopes Pym is wrong about that one.

He regrets missing the opportunity for a punch, but then, it would have been a hard one and Pym is needed by McCoy right now to assist him with saving Tony’s life. Tony might have just stopped being not-quite-dead for two days, but apparently that state was, ironically, the only thing that saved him from dying of his bullet wound. Not to mention that they cut him open and sawed through his ribs and all that. Jim actually feels sick thinking about it.

He paces the corridor a lot, until Captain America storms in, holding his shield like he wants to decapitate someone, and asks for information. Jim can’t really give him much, except that Tony is currently not dead but that might change, and that Steve should have made use of the opportunity to pour his heart out to his corpse because apparently _he could hear him_ , and that the Hanks think the guys who hacked Tony’s mind somehow programmed him to play possum because there were no chemicals in his blood that could have caused this and it’s not something a body usually decides to just do on its own. Hill is trying to get out more from her prisoner. She’ll keep them informed.

And that is all they have at the moment.

Just after Thor makes it in, Don Blake joins the team in the basement in their efforts to fix Tony. For the others, it’s time to wait again. It’s an art Jim has never quite mastered.

This time, the silence between him and Rogers is not quite as hostile.

 

-

 

Steve could say that he is getting sick of sitting by Tony’s bedside not knowing whether he will live or die, but that would be a lie. Truth is, he’s gotten sick of that a long time ago. But he also accepted that being Tony’s friend means sitting by his bedside listening to heart monitors, and that actually allowing himself to openly love the man would only make it worse.

At least this time he can sit by Tony’s bedside and hold his hand. He tells himself that and doesn’t think about how he’ll have to leave if it looks like Tony is going to wake up.

Or how they are letting him sit here because they don’t think that will happen anytime soon.

The respirator whooshes, the sound steady and almost comforting. Familiar, too. Steve knows Tony will pull through because it would be too cruel if he didn’t. Hank Pym isn’t quite as convinced, but he’s also upstairs letting Janet assure him that it wasn’t his fault and that Tony was probably too out of it to notice them crack open his ribs to get to his internal organs. Steve hopes she’s right, and that Tony will be able to confirm it, soon.

At least they know that Tony is blissfully unconscious right now. He looks absolutely horrible, and if he makes it (which he will), he’ll need a long time to fully recover. And Steve just knows that he’ll be banned from seeing him in the meantime so his presence can’t agitate Tony’s fragile mind. No one has talked about that yet, but the way things have been going lately, he doesn’t doubt for one minute that it’ll be another month or ten before he is allowed to actually talk to the man he theoretically lives with.

And maybe that will be long enough to forget the way Tony’s body hung in his arms as he carried him out of the base, or the moment when he realized he wasn’t breathing anymore.

He has Tony back, but that is still a moment someone should be taken to justice for, he thinks.

All in good time. Steve was so eager to get his hands on them, and he still is. But now he can get his hands on Tony, if only a little bit and for a little while, and that is more important. As soon as he’s been kicked out here though… Well, he’ll have plenty of time to commit to the people who hurt his lover.

If it was him in charge of those men and women, he wouldn’t let their victim’s lover anywhere near them. Not that Steve is going to hurt them, of course not, but he knows he’ll have to discuss this with Hill. Probably a lot.

For now, though, he’ll be perfectly content sitting here holding Tony’s hand until someone chases him away.

 

-

 

They chase Rogers away two days later, when Tony shows the first signs of waking. Jim takes his places at Tony’s bedside and a magazine and reads it three times before Tony not only wakes up but shows signs of actual _awareness_. He’s also on the phone a lot, talking to Pepper in whispers, alternately telling her to come and not to come. Every now and then he sleeps on the cot they kindly provided for him—Rogers used it before and it had to be even more undersized and uncomfortable for him. Sometimes he just falls asleep in his chair and wakes up with his mouth hanging open and a kink in his neck, hoping nobody saw him.

Life with Tony, basically.

Eventually, after a few days of waiting and reading and staring at the wall for lack of a window, he wakes up to Tony looking at him and giving the impression of actually _seeing_ him. It wakes Jim up completely within a heartbeat.

“Hey Boss,” he says. “Seems that despite your best attempts, you didn’t die. Now, how do you feel about that?”

Tony blinks at him. He manages to look unimpressed while also looking absolutely miserably. It’s an achievement, but then, Tony has experience.

He doesn’t reply because it’s hard to speak with an oxygen mask over his face, and also because he’s weak and in pain. And maybe because the question has been rhetorical and kind of stupid.

“McCoy should show up in a minute or so,” Jim tells him. “He’s probably been asleep so you have a few seconds longer to prepare for the poking and prodding. This is the third time you've woken up, by the way, in case you don’t remember. Which you don’t, I know, so don’t answer that. As for why you are feeling so crappy, you were shot, and then you were dead for two days.”

Tony makes a noise that dies somewhere in his throat and a vague movement that looks uncomfortably like “I know.”

“You know?” Jim growls, suddenly suspicious. “How do you know? No one told you. I guess you where there for the shooting, but how do you know about this being dead thing? Most people don’t guess that, not after two days.”

He hopes the reply is going to be neither “I know because I planned this,” nor “I know because I heard Hank and Hank talk about it while they cut me open.” As a matter of fact, the reply is a vague sound and an aborted gesture that looks disturbingly apologetic to Jim, and then McCoy comes in and takes over.

 

-

 

“This is pretty much the greatest success we ever had in bringing down an entire organization.” Jim leans back and folds his arms behind his head, doing his level best to feels as unconcerned and relaxed as he is acting. “Your little trick washed out most of he high ranking members, right into our arms, and they gave away pretty much everything. Their leader seems to be a pretty self-centered guy. We got him, so there’s no need to protect his people anymore, considering they are no longer of use to him if he’s going to jail. He’s been very helpful in hopes of a lighter sentence. And because Wolverine threatened to cut off his balls. Well...” He shrugs. “In any case, his goals don’t seem to have been overly ideological.”

Jim never really met the man. He would like to. Daniel Serkwich may be helpful right now, but he is by no means a good man. He is the kind of man who programmed a code into Tony’s mind that would make his body shut down and play dead, just in case it would ever be useful. And what he used it for was petty, pointless revenge and cruelty: if things had gone the way he’d originally planned it, Tony would have woken up after they buried him and died again, suffocating in a coffin. (They didn’t get that bit from Serkwich himself but from his aide, who is just as helpful right now, and for the same reasons.)

“He was after global domination,” Tony rasps. He makes a vague gesture with his hand because Tony likes talking with his hands but he’s too weak for anything particularly active. “It doesn’t get much more basic than that.”

“It’s a classic. You know, in a way it’s almost comforting that every now and then you get a villain with an agenda like that. No deeper plot, no tragic backstory, just selfish ambition and megalomaniac insanity. I bet he even had shrill, evil laughter.”

“Not in my presence. But he did bounce on his toes when I wrote down the real names and weaknesses of all super humans I know for him.”

Jim gulps. “You did _what_?”

“Wrote down everything I knew about everyone. He thought he controlled my will so he had no reason to doubt anything. I even managed to fix some details they got right in the files they already had on us. You know, as far I as could get away with without being discovered.”

“Dude.” Jim shakes his head. “You really had this whole thing planned out, didn’t you?”

“No, I mostly made it up as I went along.” Tony’s eyes are drooping a little, but Jim isn’t sure if that’s fatigue or an attempt to avoid talking about how he is a self-centered asshole who tends to go for the most convenient and self-destructive solution with no consideration for his friends. “Didn’t plan on dying either, if that’s what you’re going for.”

“I was, actually. Good to know you didn’t plan _that_ one.” He still can’t help sounding a little sour.

“I’m sorry for attacking you,” Tony tries.

“Okay. ‘I’m sorry for attacking you, but…’?”

“But they made me.”

“Obviously, they didn’t.”

“But they thought they did. If I hadn’t, they would have known their control didn’t work.”

“Yeah, I get that. But how about not pretending in the first place? The two of us could have easily taken them out, arrested them, and learned all about their secret club without you going undercover for two weeks and making us think you’re dead or being tortured or whatever. Although, you know, that never gets old.”

“They did kill me in the end, it that makes you feel any better.”

“Stop that, Tony. They are going to kick me out if I punch you.”

Tony sigs. Maybe he really wanted to get punched. Who knows?

“We’d never have found them all. The guys who attacked us didn’t know anything. Not even where their base was. They were navigated there via a signal to their suits, and the moment they were arrested, those suits would have been destroyed by remote control. Probably killing them, too. They didn’t know that, by the way.”

“I bet that does wonders for the work morale. How do these people no notice if their friends get roasted by their own equipment a lot?”

“That doesn’t happen,” Tony explains. “These guys never really became active before. Some covert operations, but no big missions where they could be captured and interrogated. Mostly, they got their information from people who knew they were being paid by some secret society but not what it’s really about. So whenever someone was arrested for treason or industrial espionage or whatever, they couldn’t give anything away because what they thought they knew was false and HOANU destroyed all ties to them the moment they were found out. They were very careful, have to give them that.”

“Until they fucked up spectacularly.”

“Oh yes.” Tony actually sounds proud of himself. Maybe Jim will deck him one after all.

“Can I punch you? I really feel like punching you right now.”

“I don’t know. Ask my doctor.”

“You asshole.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It was better this way. You can’t deny that. They’d still be out there if we had done it any other way.”

“I keep hearing 'we', but it was really you who made all the decisions. Again.”

“Well, it was _my_ life I was risking.”

The sad thing is that there is no point in arguing because Tony honestly doesn’t get it. “It could have gone better, is what I’m saying. If you had told anyone what you were planning.”

“They didn’t send me a letter and warn me that there would be mind control in my future. I had to make things up on the spot.”

“You could have led us to the base when they took you.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“I mean at once. Not two weeks later, just before blowing it up while you’re inside.”

“There was no opportunity. These people weren’t stupid.”

“They seem pretty stupid to me.”

“Their leaders made some bad decisions,” Tony admits. “But altogether, the whole thing was surprisingly sound. They have been around for a long time, gathered intel on a lot of things no one should have known about, and we never even knew they existed. The one time they decided to take action it’s been their downfall, true, but actually, they would have made a great secret service.”

“Seriously.”

“Yeah.” Tony settled more heavily into his propped up pillows. “I’m pretty sure the organization as such will live on in some form. It’s huge, we didn’t get nearly all of them, and the rest will scatter before we can get to all their bases. Losing their leader won’t hurt them in the long run. Eventually someone would have killed him for a promotion anyway.”

“What is their goal, then? We should really get ready to stop them before they become a problem again.”

“Changing the world?” Tony guesses. “I don’t know. Serkwich wanted to take it over; he had some reasoning on how a world united under his rule would prevent wars and thinning out the population beforehand would allow for a better distribution of resources between the ones that are left, but I think he was really just into power and destruction. Some of them really believe in those goals, though. Some are even aiming for them without the wide-spread murder and destruction. Let’s hope their faction is in power the next time they make an appearance.”

“You seem to know a lot about them.”

“Didn’t you read the report? Hill sat down here and wouldn’t shut up with the questions until they kicked her out while you weren’t looking.”

As a matter of fact, Jim has not read the report. Maria Hill only left three hours ago, he seriously doubts she’s done writing it yet. “Let’s just pretend I didn’t.”

“They let me play with their computer. What can I say?” Tony smiles briefly, even as his eyes droop more. Jim should probably let him sleep. “Did you know they call themselves the Harbingers of a New Universe?”

“Yes. Sounds ridiculous.”

“Would have been Harbingers of a New World, but HOANW makes for a bad abbreviation.”

“Wow…” Jim lets that sink in for a moment. “The problems evil organizations face, I’m telling you, man.”

“Rhodey, where’s Steve?”

The question is unexpected and unwelcome. Jim actually flinches, doesn’t quite manage to cover it up. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, man. I know he’s alive. I _remember_ … Well, I remember a lot of things you probably don’t want details on.” Tony smirks, but it lacks conviction.

Jim probably shouldn’t be surprised. Tony has been amazingly stable, psychologically, since his return. Of course he would be able to get his more recent memories in line once the newly unlocked old ones no longer drive him crazy.

It would even be convincing if not for the nightmares he still has, but those can be caused by any number of things. Either way, it’s obvious that Tony won’t let this episode slow him down any longer.

“We didn’t know how you’d react,” Jim explains. “So he was sent away, until we knew you’d be alright.” He snorts softly and hopes Tony can’t tell how his stomach is turning into a tight knot. “He’ll be ecstatic to hear he can come back here.”

He stands, ready to leave and call Captain America down here from wherever he may be, but Tony holds him back.

The grip around Jim’s fingers is disturbingly weak.

“Don’t get him yet,” Tony says quietly. “I don’t want… I’d like to see him when I’m not unable to get out of bed.” He closes his eyes, turns his head away and pretends to sleep, effectively cutting off any argument or question. After a second of watching him, Jim sits in the chair again and waits until Tony’s breath evens out and real sleep takes over.

It doesn’t take long for the nightmares to start.

 

-

 

It’s ridiculous. Tony used to be one of the richest men in the world. He’s flirted, dated, and slept with countless women. He’s faced off dozens of super human, alien, or plain insane villains who were stronger than him and beat them. He’s stood in rooms full of strangers and told them about his alcoholism.

There is no rational explanation why he’s now feeling insecure and nervous because he’s about to face the man he’s been living with for months.

A part of him still has trouble accepting that knowledge as real. All the other memories he got back got the prime seat in the theatre of his mind, the grief and guilt over Steve dying being foremost among them. Tony knows all about Steve being back but he doesn’t remember him coming back and somehow that leaves the two sets of memories unconnected, like everything that happened after he woke from his coma happened to someone else.

He wonders if it was like this for Carol, who had no emotional connection to her past. But no—the emotions are all there, even if the ones that for a while incapacitated him with their intensity are still overlaying everything. Tony still remembers researching all he’d done in the time he’d forgotten, learning about the SHRA, about the Negative Zone prison and cloning Thor and Bill Foster’s death and Happy’s death and Steve’s death and Jan’s death and not even having the luxury of disbelief because he knew immediately that this was all something he would do, no matter how much he hated himself for it. And how his heart was beating in his throat when he told Thor he’d do it all again with a bravado he didn’t feel. And how it felt when Steve hugged him after he and Tony and Thor came back from fighting dragons in the Nine Realms.

He remembers waking up after their first night together convinced that Steve would either regret it or brush it off and not sure if he could take either.

He remembers Steve bringing him coffee to his workshop when Tony had to work through the night and kissing the top of his head before going to look through some papers, and that he was happy.

It makes this moment even worse.

He finds himself wishing that for once in his life Steve is going to be late, or that an alien invasion will happen right now to let him postpone this, but of course, his luck being what it is, Steve is right on time and no alien overlord breaks through the ceiling and declares war on Earth.

Steve comes in, through the mansion’s front door, wearing casual clothes, but looking neat—as if he’s going on a date—but Steve always looks that way when he’s not in the middle of a workout. He smiles when he sees Tony, and it’s so relieved and warm that Tony heart breaks and his stomach turns. He moves to meet Steve halfway; everything still hurts, ever step is a conscious effort, but it’s okay, he’s had worse. Steve is something that’s worse. Steve reaches out with his large hands, moving so carefully like Tony is something that might break, and Tony hates that. He looks so damn happy, though, and Tony hates that more.

Everything about this is terrible but at least they are alone, he’s made sure of that. They are alone.

“Steve,” Tony says. Seeing this man, feeling his hands cup his cheeks, makes his heart beat faster, and that’s wrong. So is the little voice that tells him that Steve shouldn’t be here, alive or not; that somehow he slipped into another universe while he wasn’t looking, one that is punishing him for his sins by making everything perfect the way he effectively kept it from being.

“Steve,” he says again, but doesn’t stop the other man when he leans in and presses his lips against Tony’s. For a second, he closes his eyes. For a second, he returns the kiss.

After a second, he breaks it and takes a step back and Steve lets him go; a little confused, a little concerned. About him. Clueless.

Tony hates himself for everything.

“Steve,” he says for the third time and he isn’t proud that his voice is steady, just grateful. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Now Steve sounds a little suspicious; he knows Tony too well.

“For everything. For this. You shouldn’t be here. With me, I mean. This should never have happened.”

“’This’?” Steve asks. “Are you talking about _us_?”

Tony’s throat tightens; Steve is beginning to sound a little angry, the way he gets when he’s lost and hurt and doesn’t know how to react. Tony doesn’t trust himself to speak for a second but he forces himself to look Steve in the eye and nods.

He hopes Steve will see his point; that this will be over soon.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Steve doesn’t even sound overly disbelieving. He sounds incredulous, rather, and a little irritated, as if talking to a child who doesn’t realize how stupid he’s being.

“Yes,” Tony says.

“ _Why_?” Suddenly, Steve’s hands close around Tony’s shoulders and his grip is just a little too hard for all the muscle tone Tony’s lost while he was sick and then a prisoner. When he speaks, though, his voice is quiet. “Is it because you remembered? Because of something I did?”

“No. Yes.” Tony sighs, wishes his breath didn’t shake, wishes Steve would just get it and not fight him on this. “Things were fucked up. If I had known—”

“You knew,” Steve interrupts him. “You knew everything about what happened. You did your research, we talked about it. I’ve for- We worked through it, didn’t we?”

“I knew,” Tony confirms. “I knew like I know about the World Wars or the Revolutionary War. Just that in this case there was one guy in it who was a lot like me. Now I remember. And I know things I didn’t know before. That no one told me.” He knows how it feels to sit alone in a room and make the decision to kill a friend. He knows what it feels like to fight people he loves and make that decision over and over again, every day, and tell himself it’s worth it. “You hated me,” he says, softly.

Steve is silent for too long. “No, I—”

“Yes, you did. I have… What I did. I made you. I knew I would but it’s still…” It’s still hard to say to words, no matter how often he’s been going through them in anticipation of this meeting.

“Tony, I love you.” Tony closes his eyes because Steve sounds so earnest and the words have never come as easily to Tony. “No matter what happened. I do. I did for a long time, that’s why it hurt so much, that’s why… We talked about this. A lot.”

“You never said you hated me,” Tony insists. “Really hated me. Enough to want me dead.” He’s no stranger to hate; he knows what it looks like, what it feels like to be hated, has known since the first time he was old enough to realize what he is and what he should be and what he won’t ever be. It’s ugly and hard and unforgiving. Tony hasn’t hated, really _hated_ many people in his life because being deserving of true hatred, that’s a lot. It’s also personal, it’s always personal. That’s why Steve hated him; because he expected better, and because Tony took his friendship and love and threw it in his face. “You should have.”

“Did Rhodes put you up to this?” Steve’s expression is dark and getting darker. He looks up and at the stairs leading to the second floor for some reason. As if he’s expecting to see someone standing there, watching them. Tony knows there is no one and doesn’t look.

“Rhodey? No. What would he have to do with this?” He shakes his head, refusing to let himself be distracted. “It wasn’t hard to come up with myself. A relationship like ours… I love you, Steve. Always did. But I went into this under false assumptions. I should have known, probably, but I didn’t, and you didn’t tell me…” He shakes his head and can’t look at Steve anymore. “I would never have let this happen if I had known.”

“Let it happen,” Steve repeats. “Tony, this isn’t some accident. And I don’t know how you can think… I don’t hate you. I mean it when I say I love you. That’s not something I would lie about. And I’m sorry what happened, I got carried away. I was angry, but I never wanted to hurt you, not really. You have to believe me.”

“Steve, I’m not scared of you,” Tony tells him, desperate for Steve to get it. “And I don’t blame you. You did nothing wrong.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

“Because you… Because this can’t work. It won’t work.”

“It worked so far.”

“Because I didn’t know!” Tony is rising his voice now, but that’s desperation, not anger. He wants to be done with this before he loses it. “I knew what I did, to you, but only on an intellectual level. I didn’t know how bad it really was. You don’t hate people, Steve. You don’t kill people, but you wanted to kill me. That’s how bad it was. How can you even look at me?”

“You said you’d do it again. You said you’d stand up for what you did. Did that change, too?” Steve sounds lost, but also, maybe, a little hopeful, and this just keeps getting worse because they never really got over any of this. Tony deleted his memories and robbed them of any chance to try.

“No,” he squashes Steve’s hopes. “That didn’t change. But you can’t… you’ll never forgive me. You shouldn’t. I don’t know why you even got involved with me in the first place.”

“Because I love you, you moron.”

“No, you don’t—”

“Don’t tell me how I feel!”

“—and even if you do, it isn’t enough. Not after… I knew I’d sacrifice our friendship, Steve. I was okay with it, because I knew it was worth it, keeping you and everyone as safe as I could. You just… you separated the man who did all that to you from me because I didn’t remember. But I do now. And it was always me. You can’t possibly want to be with the guy who hurt you so badly that you’d kick all your morals out of the window.”

Seconds pass in which Steve doesn’t protest. Doesn’t argue. He closes his eyes for a second and then he says, “Tony,” and reaches out his hand, but it’s half-hearted and Tony is already out of reach.

“No.” Tony walks past Steve, towards the door. Making an effort to stay out of reach but Steve doesn’t even try. “I’m sorry,” he says again, because he is. More than Steve knows. “This is my fault. I’m finally doing the right thing.” Even if he has to hurt Steve to do it. Again. Even if he has to be the bad guy again. At least this time, he thinks as he steps out into the evening sunlight, Steve will eventually understand.


	8. Chapter 8

“Be honest with me,” Jim says halfway to the airport. “Did you wait until you could walk before having this conversation so you could walk right out on him?” He looks over to where Tony is sitting in the passenger seat, but Tony is only looking out of the window. It’s dark by now; in the irregular illumination of the streetlights his face looks washed out and old.

“I feel like by getting back my memories, I killed the guy Steve fell in love with,” Tony says to the window.

“Wow, you’re a barrel of laughs.” Jim can already tell that the way back to Seattle is going to be very long.

His job had been to sit in the car outside the mansion and wait for Tony, so he knew Tony wanted to leave, and quickly, but hearing why still came as a surprise. He doesn’t disapprove, though. Well, of the reasons, perhaps, but not of the act.

Tony doesn’t say anything else all the way to their destination. Jim pulls into a free parking spot and Tony still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make a move to get out.

Jim waits patiently, just checking if his friend has fallen asleep. To be honest, he’s a little worried. Tony shouldn’t be up and about yet. He can hardly walk. And he’s heartbroken, even if he made the decision himself. He’s not good at taking care of himself in times like this.

But he also really needs to get away, and Jim can support him in that, if nothing else.

“Having second thoughts?” he finally asks, dreading the answer, when Tony hasn’t moved for almost ten minutes.

Tony turns to look at him, his movements slow, as if in a trance. “Can you take me to Penn Station?” he asks, his voice oddly small. “I’d like to go by train.”

Well, that’s unexpected. But whatever. Tony is the boss, and it’s not like they already had the flight booked. “Whatever you want.” Jim starts the car and programs their new destination into the GPS. It’s not a place he's had to go often, at least not by car.

Looks like the journey to Seattle will be even longer than he thought it would be.

 

-

 

Jim gets them two tickets to Seattle and Tony picks the longest route with the most layovers he can find. Apparently, the idea is to make it last as long as possible before he gets anywhere and may have to do things again. Like face life. It’s better than crawling into a bottle, though, and honestly, Jim gets it. He’s had thoughts about just getting up and getting away more than once in his life, mostly during college. Although usually, those daydreams didn’t involve trains.

Tony seems honestly surprised that Jim is determined to come with him, but Jim doesn’t think he could tie his own shoelaces at the moment, and Tony doesn’t protest. He just looks at him every so often, as if he can’t figure Jim out.

That’s fine by Jim. He likes being the mysterious one for once.

Meanwhile, Tony settles into being the quiet one. He doesn’t do much but stare out of the window whenever he’s not looking at Jim. He doesn’t read. He doesn’t doodle on the sketchbook Jim knows is in his bag. Maybe he’s designing things in his head, but Jim doubts it. He knows how Tony looks when he does that. This isn’t it. This is what Tony looks like when he’s trying not to cry.

Their train has WiFi, but Tony never once gets out of his laptop or his phone. He doesn’t even check his e-mails, apparently either convinced that now he’s not running any companies and is off the Avengers’ rooster due to his injuries, no one could possibly want anything from him. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Jim knows his phone is turned on, but he’s blocking everything but emergency calls.

Better that way. Jim doesn’t even say anything about it. He does get on the internet with his own phone, though, while Tony watches the world go by and the sun come up. Pepper sent two e-mails to him; one to ask if everything is alright and one to complain that Tony is ignoring her. Jim sends a short reply, tells her they are on the train and about to arrive. In Pittsburgh. Seattle is going to take them a few days, but then, there is nothing in particular waiting from them there, either.

He knows Pepper will understand. She’s known Tony long enough to have seen him get like this more than once.

The ride to Pittsburgh takes over nine hours. The only time Tony interacts with Jim at all is when Jim goes to get himself a snack and Tony shakes his head to the question if he wants something to eat. Jim dozes for an hour or so. For all he knows, Tony doesn’t.

His friend looks like death warmed over when they finally climb out of the train at their first stop, with hollow cheeks and dark rings under his eyes. He doesn’t look at all like Tony Stark, not the way the media knows him (his friends do; they know him like this and they know what he looks like when he’s falling to pieces) and that is, for once, perfectly fine with Jim. He’s moderately certain that Tony doesn’t even know about all the media outrage about him and Rogers, and he certainly doesn’t want him to find out because someone recognizes him and asks about his relationship with Captain America. (Jim wonders if Tony would have acted differently if he had known.)

Tony gives him a strange look when Jim takes a hat out of his bag and puts it on his head, but doesn’t say anything. He probably gets it. They are lucky no one has recognized Tony yet, but then, people simply do not expect Tony Stark to show up on public transport.

The next best train to get them closer to their destination is leaving around noon, and it's going to be another ten hours to yet another layover. Jim isn’t looking forward to it, though he’s traveled worse ways.

He also isn’t particularly surprised when Tony just wanders away from the station, stops a taxi, and asks the driver to take them to the nearest motel.

“Really?” Jim asks once they checked in under a fake name and he dropped their two pathetic bags that are entirely inadequate for a several days journey to the floor. “A motel, Tony? Are we running out of money this quickly?”

“I’m not as rich as I used to be. And I’ve stayed in motels before,” Tony points out, his voice a little raspy, and Jim thinks _, Yeah, you did. When you were trying to kill yourself with booze._

“I could have paid for a hotel room,” he says, just in case that really is the problem here.

“I felt like this.”

“I wonder why,” Jim remarks drily. He actually does have a pretty good idea. It goes along well with Tony’s hat.

The room isn’t too bad. It’s clean, there is a queen size bed that should fit them both, and nothing is living in the bathroom. Jim even saw a fast food place around the corner when the taxi dropped them off, and that’s foremost on his mind right now. “I’m running over to grab some food,” he tells his friend. “What do you want?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“No? You’d better work up some appetite anyway, or else it’s not gonna be fun when I cram a burger down your throat.”

Tony glares at him but doesn’t say anything more as Jim leaves, so he thinks there might be a chance Tony will eat—or at least that the door won’t be bolted when he comes back.

Fortunately, there isn’t much going on at the fast food place. Jim, ravenous as he is, picks a big combo made of fries and two burgers and a giant coke, and he gets a salad and a spring roll for Tony, knowing anything else would be pushing it. Considering until two days ago Tony was taking all his food in liquid form, the salad might be pushing it already, but Jim has to try, at least.

He gets Tony something Jim likes to eat as well, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to be eating leftovers.

When he gets back to their room, the door is not locked. Good. Tony is nowhere to be seen. Bad. The sound of running water comes from the bathroom, indicating someone taking a shower. Good. Unless it’s someone other than Tony because someone came in here, killed Tony and is now washing the blood off, or because Jim ended up in the wrong room, both of which would be bad.

But the door opens and it’s Tony who comes out, dressed in the same jeans and sweater as before, but running a towel through his damp hair. Now it’s wet and hanging down, Jim can see all too clearly how long it has gotten.

A drop of water runs down Tony’s neck and disappears in the neckline of his shirt.

“I borrowed your razor,” he tells Jim, almost cheerfully, as if he hadn’t spent the last ten hours playing mute. “I thought about shaving off everything but I don’t think anyone really pays attention. Do you? I mean, I lost a lot of weight and the hat should do its job. What do you think?”

“I think you look weird without the beard,” Jim says. Shaving it off would probably better, though. But Tony already looks strange; tired, thin and pale. Shaving off the beard would make him look like a stranger.

“That’s what I thought. I think I need to go out and buy some clothes. I didn’t really think we’d be traveling for more than a few hours; this was bad planning. At least I have a toothbrush. Do you have a toothbrush? I can buy you one when I go shopping. And underwear and stuff, I guess we need that, too.”

Jim needs food, and a shower, and a nap. In that order. “Sit down and eat,” he says sternly. “Then we’ll go shopping together, else you’ll forget half the stuff we need and buy a lot of shit we don’t.”

Tony doesn’t even argue that. He waits while Jim sits at the small table and starts wolfing down his burger, but he doesn’t seem to see the salad that was placed in front of him, and he’s actually bouncing on his chair a little while his eyes look far away at something he’s either excited about or really needs to do.

“Eat your food, kid,” Jim growls at him. “What are you, five? Food is good for you and I’m not carrying you home when you collapse into a box full of socks at the store.”

“Not hungry,” Tony insists.

“Don’t make me play airplane with you.”

“I’m considering being really annoying just to see you try.”

“You _are_ really annoying. Now eat or I’ll tie you to the bed and force-feed you.” Too late Jim remembers that that might not be a smart thing to say to someone who only recently got through two pretty harmful kidnapping experiences. But Tony doesn’t seem to take offense in any way. He just scowls at him and picks up the plastic fork.

He makes it through half the salad in the time Jim needs to finish his combo and not be starving anymore. Overall, that’s as much of a win as this situation allows.

He does drink all off the coffee Jim brought him, though, so there’s always that.

They go out shopping afterwards, as Tony wanted. Jim is basically dead on his feet, only coming along because he feels that a babysitter is needed here, but Tony is filled with manic energy and doesn’t seem to feel the long train ride or his injuries or anything else. (His injuries are really fucking bad even now. Aside from being shot, someone cut through his ribs and broke open his chest, and that hasn’t fully healed yet. How he is even walking is beyond Jim.)

They grab a few pairs of socks and boxer shorts, two t-shirts and a pair of jeans for each of them, as well as another cap for Tony to wear as a disguise. Afterwards, Tony runs through the stationery section and seemingly at random takes three notebooks of different sizes, a ruler and a bunch of pencils.

Since Tony is still hurt, Jim carries their stuff while his friend hurries down the sidewalk in a weird mix of limping and bouncing. It’s not far to the motel, but Jim would still have preferred taking a taxi. Tony insisted on walking.

Maybe Tony just has a lot of unnecessary energy to spare.

Once they make it back, Jim drops the bags and shuffles into the shower. He doesn’t take his time. When he comes out Tony is sitting on the desk, scribbling something into his new notebooks. From a distance it looks like designs. With Tony, designs are a pretty safe bet.

Maybe Tony thought of them while he was staring out of the train window. And now he’s very eager to get them out. Because he forgot he had a notebook with him on the train. Yeah, that sounds likely.

Jim leaves him be in favor of falling face down onto the bed. He just wants to…

Nope. It’s not happening. Jim can close his eyes and try to give in to his exhaustion all he wants, but part of his mind is always acutely aware of the sound of Tony’s pen moving over the paper when he applies too much pressure, of sheets being torn out of the notebook, of Tony shuffling in his chair. Whenever he’s completely still Jim just has to open his eyes to see what he’s doing, and what Tony’s doing is staring out of the window, only to then pick up his pen again and get back to work.

Jim lies awake like this for hours. It’s too early to sleep anyway, he tells himself as he pulls the pillow over his head and tries to ignore Tony’s presence in his life. He’ll have all night for sleep; no point in sleeping now and waking up long before dawn. No reason to be frustrated. Tony has to go to sleep eventually.

What does happen eventually is Jim drifting off. He doesn’t notice it happening so he doesn’t get to appreciate the fact. All he knows is that at some point he wakes up. It’s dark, the only light coming from the screen of the laptop Tony set up while Jim was asleep. Paper is scattered around the room. And Tony is still working with that almost manic gleam in his eyes.

When Jim drowsily tells him to come the fuck to bed, he doesn’t seem to hear him.

 

-

 

The next morning, Tony is in a ridiculously good mood. According to him, he designed five random household tools, discarded four of them, and taught Jim’s laptop how to speak. Jim eyes the thing warily but it doesn’t greet him, which he finds vaguely reassuring.

They have breakfast, meaning Jim eats the stale leftover salad from yesterday while Tony nibbles on his spring roll, and then Jim has the leftover spring roll. They make it to the station, board the train, and spend the next ten hours listening to the sound of the wheels on the tracks.

This time, Tony is cheerful, if distracted by typing furiously on Jim’s computer. Jim watches him closely and occasionally texts Pepper to keep her updated. She’s worried about Tony being recognized and confronted with things that might speed up his nervous breakdown. Jim tells her that Tony is wearing a baseball cap so it should be okay.

In between, Jim sleeps a little, has some snacks and drinks a lot of coffee. Tony drinks a lot of coffee. Jim kind of wants to make him stop so he can sleep, and make him eat so he doesn’t die, but there are people around and he doesn’t want to cause a scene that will draw attention to them.

By the time they arrive in Chicago, it’s getting dark. Jim is tired and his limbs are aching, and he longs for real food. At least, he thinks, he got the chance to get up and walk around inside the train, and there was a bistro with overpriced sandwiches and non-disgusting restrooms. He should be grateful that Tony didn’t feel like taking a Greyhound.

Because Jim would have been on that with him as well. And it would have sucked.

Again, they are taking a room in a motel, not far from the station. This time they have no reason to go out. Jim orders a pizza, getting Tony’s favorite in the hope of getting him to eat something. In the end he manages to do so by cutting one slice into tiny pieces and holding them before Tony’s mouth as he’s working. Basically, Tony has no other choice but to eat if he doesn’t want to either stop typing and scribbling or get melting cheese all over his face.

Why didn’t Jim think of this before? It works with little kids, doesn’t it?

He also doesn’t order any coffee. If Tony wants any, he’ll have to go out and get it.

“It’s like dealing with a child,” Jim grumbles around midnight, when Tony is yawning once every two minutes and still doesn’t slow down. Jim himself is not nearly as tired as he was the day before, but just watching his friend makes him want to lie down.

Eventually he puts his foot down and snags the laptop from Tony, closing the screen.

“Hey!” Tony glares at him. “You’re ruining my work!”

“It’s only in stand-by mode, nothing lost. You’ll get it back after you've slept.”

“What the hell, Jim? I’m not a fucking child!”

“You behave like one. And besides, it’s _my_ laptop. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

Tony growls. With the inky rings around his eyes and his face mostly in shadow, he looks like something alien and unreal. “Make me.”

It’s not even a challenge. Jim takes him around the waist, lifts him over his shoulder, and dumps him on the bed. Tony struggles and curses but has no chance of getting away when Jim pins him down by the wrists. “You’re cheating!”

“I’m stronger than you. That’s not cheating.”

“Let me get my armor and we’ll continue this discussion.”

“That would be cheating on your part. Tony.” Jim lets go of one of Tony’s arms and grabs his chin when he looks away. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“You’re not okay. I know that. I know I can’t help you. But please, at least try to take care of yourself. Or let me take care of you. I don’t want… ”

“I can’t sleep,” Tony says, saving him from having to finish that sentence. “I don’t want to.”

“Nightmares.” Jim doesn’t even need to ask. “I know. Just. Let me help. You need sleep. I can wake you when it looks like you need it.”

“Rhodey.” Tony says his name with a sigh. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” Jim finally lets go of him and sits back, confident that Tony won’t try to run. “You can make it up to me by not being a pain in the ass.”

“I’ll always be that.” Tony smiles but Jim knows he means what he said. He’s right, too. And he won’t get that it doesn’t matter. “I don’t even know how to… Thanks for being there for me when I was losing it. Did I say that yet?”

“Kind of. But you may again, if it makes you feel better.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know. That’s why I was there.” Jim runs a hand through Tony’s hair. “Try to sleep, okay?”

“Not yet.” Much to Jim’s disappointment, Tony sits up. He doesn’t leave the bed, though. “I can’t just now. I know it. Give me another hour or two and I’ll fall over.”

“You’ll just get lost in work again and forget about the passing out. I’m not giving you back the laptop.”

“You don’t have to.” Tony sinks forward until his head is resting on Jim’s shoulder, and Jim’s arms wrap around him automatically, feeling him very warm and solid against his chest. He strokes Tony’s back, the too wide t-shirt riding up with every motion of his hand. After a minute or so, Tony turns his head so his mouth is against Jim’s neck and…

The feeling that shoots into Jim’s stomach at the sensation of Tony’s lips moving over his skin is a curious mix of excitement and dread. He hasn’t had this for a very long time, not with Tony, and a part of him just wants to lean into it and let his hands find their way under this damn t-shirt that keeps getting in his way. And, hey, Tony remembers that spot under Jim’s ear that makes part of his brain shut down immediately.

There’s a larger part, though, that is actually a sensible adult and in charge of his actions because being a sensible adult is what he is here for. It’s that part that pushes Tony away gently and keeps him at a distance.

Tony’s hair is falling into his face and his eyes are very large and very blue.

“This is a bad idea,” Jim tells him, not unkindly. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Tony doesn’t try to kiss him, but he fixes his eyes on Jim’s lips like he wants to. “I’m not taken. You’re not taken. Are you?”

This is the point where Jim should lie and put an end to this immediately, because if he’s in a relationship, Tony will respect that. “No, I’m not. But you only just left Captain-freaking-America, the man you wouldn’t shut up about even while he was still stuck in the ice. I can see how much you’re struggling with that, it’s written all over your face, dumbass.” He runs his thumb over Tony’s neck and wishes he could forget Tony’s lips on his own.

“If you think I’m just trying to get over Steve—”

“Of course you are,” Jim interrupts him. “And that’s okay,” he clarifies. “You’ve done it before. I’ve done it. Hell, I have no problem with you doing it now. But not with me.”

“Why not you?”

Jim was afraid of this question. “I can’t do this, Tony,” he says. “Not like this and not with you. Not now. I won’t be your Steve Rogers replacement.”

“Jim.” Tony leans in after all and kisses Jim before he can be stopped, but it’s only a brief brush of lips against lips before he leans back again. “I want you. No one else. I’m not using you to hurt Steve, or make him jealous, or to prove anything to myself. But I don’t want to hurt you either.” He leans against Jim again, but this time he’s facing away from him; seeking his closeness and nothing else, even though the way they are sitting, Jim can feel his erection, almost digging against his own. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

It sounds like giving up and giving in. There’s no attempt at manipulation in it, Jim knows that. Tony said what he wants but he’s going to submit to anything Jim decides without fighting him on it and that’s what settles it, that’s what makes him slide his hand under Tony’s shirt after all and use the other to turn Tony’s head and kiss him. Because he knows that if it’s not him, it will be someone else. Possibly anyone else. And Tony will give in just this easily to whatever they want, will do his best to lose himself in that affair and to please his partner, and Jim has no way of knowing who that will be, or if he even knows them. No way of knowing they won’t take advantage because Tony has a hard time recognizing when someone is bad for him and in times like this, he might not even care.

He does it because he loves Tony and wants Tony and right now, that makes him the best thing that can happen to Tony.

As he wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders and guides him to lie on his back, he’s still telling himself that this is the rational thing to do.

 

-

 

This is not the first time they are doing this. The first time they had both been drunk.

It’s happened a couple of times and it has always been fun and it has never meant anything. That’s what’s different right now. This time Tony needs him and Jim isn’t sure if he’s taking advantage of that or being taken advantage of or if everything is going to be alright. But he knows that this is not something that will be over in the morning, and he’d lose himself in doubt and commitment issues if his life hadn’t been committed to Tony for a very long time.

Mostly, he doesn’t think about it. He tries not to think of anything but taking control of this and making a point of making it about Tony, about doing things that he knows Tony likes. Of giving pleasure rather than receiving it because Tony is in a fucked-up place right now and Jim needs him to understand that he doesn’t have to bend over and go out of his way to keep him happy in order to make him stay.

He doesn’t even know if Tony is overly aware of everything that’s going on. He’s so tired and so high-strung and desperate that he just gives in and writhes on the sheets in a way Jim has never seen him before; with his head thrown back and shudders running through him and fighting for breath. Jim doesn’t tease him much, knowing this is not the time, and when Tony comes with a breathless moan that dies stillborn in his throat, the sight alone is almost enough to make Jim come as well.

Afterwards, when they are both spent and messy and their hearts are beating far too fast, Jim holds Tony close, feeling every soft tremor that runs through his body, and thinks about how the metal armors they like to hide behind never protect them from things like this.

 

-

 

The ride to Sacramento takes fifty hours. One the one hand, Jim is not surprised because he knows it’s a long way. On the other hand he’s fucking shocked because _fifty hours_. On a train. That’s more than two days.

At least this time they have beds. Tiny, narrow beds, but beds. For lying down and stretching out. And staring out of the window, if they could find the right angle.

Jim would have planned to spend a lot of time in the lounge drinking, but that would have been plain unfair.

At least it’s just them in the tiny two-cot roomette. Not that anything is going to go on. Jim has already crossed Sex On A Train off his bucket list a long time ago, and he’s sure so has Tony. He’s actually happy if he can just get Tony to get some sleep some time in the fifty hours this is going to take.

If he's ever seen a sign that he’s getting old, this is it.

Predictably, Tony doesn’t sleep. At all. In two days. It’s not something unusual, but he’s still recovering. Jim can’t wrestle him to these beds, they’d break.

The train ride is made up of Jim hanging out in the dining car and in the lounge and doing push-ups in the corridor and sleeping at night, and of Tony working and doodling and communicating with Jim’s laptop, it seems, though the thing doesn’t seem willing to talk to Jim yet. In between, Tony stares out of the window a lot, though he never does it for long while Jim is watching. He barely eats and doesn’t even try to rest.

That night in Chicago, Tony slept like a corpse for five hours and then started crying and twitching in his sleep. Jim woke him up because he promised he would, knowing it would be a long time before Tony was willing to try again.

Just two hours or so before Sacramento, Tony falls asleep where he has been working on his cot. He lies still and quiet and Jim is glad; is glad until Tony comes awake with a twitch, and rolls out of bed with haunted eyes and a hand clutching his shirt, over the RT.

Jim didn’t notice anything was wrong.

 

-

 

The last train had beds; in theory, they are well rested. The next train will have beds as well because it’s another twenty hours to Seattle. There is no real point in staying the night in Sacramento, except that it’ll be another day before Tony has to be in Seattle and face life. He gets them a room in a hotel this time, on the fourteenth floor with view over the city and crisp sheets and room service if they want it.

Jim doesn’t think that Tony will sleep, though he needs it. For a moment, he finds himself missing the sedative they had for him when he was crazy.

He’s not very tired himself but he won’t sit around all night watching Tony work and his mind disappear to wherever it is he goes. He won’t go out and leave Tony alone. He takes the paper away and the laptop and this time Tony doesn’t fight him but moves to sit on Jim’s lap facing him, kissing him. He smiles a lot. He looks content and happy.

“There are messages from Steve on your phone.” Jim’s hands are resting on Tony’s hips, the bones sharp and hard against his palms. He saw him check his phone earlier; there were messages and Tony didn’t listen to them.

“I can’t talk to him.” Tony doesn’t say won’t, or shouldn’t. “If it was important, they would contact me on my other phone.” They.

“Tony.” Jim knows he sounds sad. He knows this can’t work. In this very moment he knows.

“That is over, Rhodey.”

“It’ll never be over. You two were together long before you started having sex. This is the one ongoing relationship in your life and it doesn’t end because you decide to not have sex anymore.”

“It’s not that I won’t see him again and change my number. You have been in my life longer than he has. Relationships change. Steve’s and mine has changed.”

“But you didn’t want it to.” There is no point in lying to anyone; Jim hopes Tony agrees.

“It had to. I fucked up. I don’t understand why he took me in the first place.”

“Your logic is screwed up. I agree that he should have told you more. I’m happy you’re not with him anymore.” No lies. Jim moves his hands up Tony’s back and feels the knops of his spine. “And if this had never happened—” He presses a quick kiss to Tony’s lips. “—I would still have been happy about it.”

“After you just told me he’s the love of my life.” There’s mirth in Tony’s voice. “You’re right, I’m not good for him. That’s why I left. It makes me an asshole but he’ll understand. Someone had to be the bad guy here.”

“Someone _is_ the bad guy and it isn’t you. You’re frustrating.”

“I made him want to kill me and then I lived with him in domestic bliss as if it hadn’t happened.”

“He wanted to kill you and left you unaware of that when he moved in. Does that sound okay for you?”

“It sounds like he’s a better person than he should be.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What do you want? I ended things.”

“And you’re suffering for it. You wish you didn’t have to.” Jim runs his thumb over Tony’s cheek, the bone underneath his eye. “You wish you were still with him.”

“I wish a lot of things. None of them come true. Accepting that is the trick.”

“Tony,” Jim says gently, just holding him now. “I can’t be Steve’s replacement for you. I refuse.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Tony is the one who kisses him this time and Jim shouldn’t let him. “I know who you are.”

“And it’s not who you want me to be.”

“I want you to be you. I want you. Why is that hard to understand?”

Jim could ask the same question. “You’re looking for something to keep you from drowning. I get that. I’m glad to be that for you, Tone. But I won’t spend forever being the second best choice.” He can’t, not for Tony. He’ll rather go back to the role that is his alone.

“You’re no one’s second choice, Ace.” Tony’s lips twitch and he smiles, if only a little. “You’re something else. And you’re not committing to anything. I’m not asking for forever. Just for here and now.”

“Wise words.” Jim finds himself smiling back. “Can’t be your own.”

“Rumiko said that to me once,” Tony volunteers, without bitterness. It’s a surprise; Jim hasn’t heard him say her name in years. But he remembers Tony from the days after her death and the ring he was going to offer her. Rumiko wanted here and now, a moment, and a moment is what she got, in the end.

And just like that, this seems like something Jim can do. Steve Rogers might be the one, but he was never the only one. Tony has loved before, and he has lost before. He can move on and move past them. Without forgetting, without replacing anyone. Letting them be a part of his past.

 

-

 

Contrary to Jim’s belief, there is no bed on the train to Seattle. Well, there are, in fact, many beds. But not for them, as they are all sold out. So they sit in their seats all day, waiting for their limbs to go stiff. Jim could have moved around, of course, except that apparently he managed to actually wear Tony out last night since the bastard is finally sleeping, with the baseball cap obscuring most of his face and his head resting on Jim’s shoulder.

So Jim sits very still. Naturally.

At some point, some five hours into the ride, Tony sighs and shifts, and mutters something Jim can’t make out. He doesn’t sound distressed so Jim lets him sleep. He just takes the cap that is sliding off Tony’s head and takes a moment to press a gentle kiss to Tony’s forehead and brush the hair out of his face, marveling at the contrast between Tony’s pale skin and jet black hair and Jim’s dark brown fingers, touching both.

Then he places the cap back and settles into his seat, only to notice the stare of a fifty-something woman on the other side of the aisle who doesn’t even pretend not to watch them. She looks disapproving. Jim kind of wants her to make noise so he’ll have an excuse to shut her up.

But she doesn’t. They both go back to looking out of their respective sides of the window.

 

-

 

An hour later, the train stops at another station and Tony comes awake with a gasp and Rogers’ name on his lips. He looks lost and broken for a second. Then he looks out of the window. Jim goes back to reading his book.

One hour from Seattle, Tony runs a hand over his face and sighs. “I need a shower.”

“A lot of people in this wagon need a shower,” Jim remarks drily.

“I need a suit, too. I need…” He sighs again. “Some sleep, actually. Or a lot of coffee and makeup. Pepper used to be good at that. Do you think she’d help me this time? It’s for a good cause,” he adds hopefully.

“What good cause?” This sounds suspicious. Tony has obviously been thinking and Jim can’t follow because Tony doesn’t always give context to what he’s talking about. “What are you going to do that you need a suit and makeup for?” Makeup to cover how crappy he looks, probably. Something official, then. Possibly with the media involved…

“I’m going to give a statement to the press.” Tony is looking down at the paper in his lap as if it holds all the answers, but for all Jim can tell he’s been doodling trains for the last hour. “Need to clear some things up.”

“If this has to do with Rogers and you… ” Tony has had access to the internet for the last couple of days. Of course he knows what’s going on now.

“I’ll take care of that.” He sounds determined. “The sooner the better. They need to leave everyone alone. And Logan needs to stop giving them answers, that never looks good for anyone. Can I bunk with you? You have a place in the city, don’t you?”

The question is unexpected and clearly a deliberate change of topic. “So do you.”

“No, I sold it when I moved back to New York. Need something new one of these days. Not sure I can stay in a hotel until then, that’s too expensive.” He laughs drily. “Never thought I’d have to say that.”

“You ran a pretty successful company there,” Jim reminds him. “And sold it.”

“For a dollar,” Tony points out, and that’s just him, that’s the Tony Stark the media is never interested in. The guy who once decided to start over with another name and gave all his money to charity.

Jim has no doubt that Tony has some reserves, and he knows he’ll make a fortune in no time once he sets his mind to it, but right now Tony’s mind is pretty far away, and Jim does have an apartment in Seattle, if not a big one. They don’t need big. Tony has lived on the streets. He’s not as picky as he likes people to believe.

Besides, one bed will do. Just enough room for Jim and Tony and the shadow of Steve Rogers.

So they climb out of the train an hour later, with aching and stiff limbs and Jim wondering if he should offer to pay for part of the trip because it was expensive and he has money and maybe Tony doesn’t. But it would be silly, and Tony’s not spending money he doesn’t have.

He even pays for the taxi that takes them to Jim’s place.

Then he takes a shower, tries on one of Jim’s good suits that looks big and ridiculous on him, gives up and calls Pepper since he’s pretty sure there’s a spare suit of his somewhere in the offices.

While Jim prepares some simple food in the kitchen, Tony listens patiently while Pepper yells at him for half an hour.

“First time I talked to her in weeks,” Tony grumbles after the call, his eyes fixed on the food Jim places in front of him like it’s something alien that might attack him.

“Is she sending the suit?”

“Yeah. I think so. She might burn it. Apparently Splitlip did something horribly inappropriate during an AA meeting and that’s my fault because I wasn’t there to prevent it. Or something. If the suit isn’t here tomorrow, she burned it.”

“Eat.” Jim points to the plate. “Look good and healthy for the cameras. They all love you, you know.” He’s not talking about the cameras.

“I know.” But he doesn’t, he just doesn’t want to have this conversation. His shoulders are hunched as he picks at his food. He looks like a man who fucked up his life and knows it.

Jim tries not to take it personally.

 

-

 

So Tony gives a statement to the press. Fortunately, the suit arrives in time. It arrives with Pepper attached to it, and with makeup she applies to Tony’s face, which looks like he spent this last night tossing in Jim’s bed and not sleeping one second, which is what he did. When Tony goes out, he looks human; like a human who has spent some time in captivity and suffered some injuries, but is well on the way to recovery and just needs some calories and exercise. He doesn’t answer any questions. He just tells them what he wants them to know.

When he is done and they are alone, Pepper slaps him. Jim doesn’t, but he would like to.

Tony doesn’t looks sorry, just devastated.

He spends the rest of the day in Jim’s garage, working on a new minimum-noise engine for trains.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“The thing is,” Tony says on TV, smiling briefly and somewhat self-consciously, “that we tried to keep our relationship a secret because it was still a work in progress. I am not good at relationships, if the media can be believed, and we wanted to see if we could really make this work before coming out, to avoid exactly this situation. As it turned out, we couldn’t. I appreciate all Steve has done to keep things in perspective while I was too busy to deal with this, but the fact remains that in the end, all this hype about us showed me that we could never live up to the expectations put onto us and that we… that _I_ am not willing or able to deal with this kind of pressure and observation. And once you realize that a relationship is not important enough for you to put up with that, then it’s only logical to end it. Anything else wouldn’t be fair. So I ended it. Steve Rogers and I are officially not together anymore. I know this won’t affect us professionally, so there is no need to worry about that. He’s a great guy, the best I’ve ever known, so he’ll find someone who really deserves him soon enough.” And then he leaves and ignores all the questions and comments people have for him.

“Wow,” Carol says from her place on the arm of the couch. “He couldn’t have made himself look any more like an asshole if he’d tried.”

“He did try,” Jan comments. She looks over to Steve who stands behind the sofa with his fingers about to crack the glass he is holding. “What exactly happened between you?”

“We… I don’t even know. He left me, and then he left. Hasn’t answered my calls, nothing.”

“So he might have spoken the truth just now,” Hank points out. Jan and Carol give him looks that make him pull in his head and pretend he’s not actually in the room.

“It’s. There are things he remembers now that he didn’t before, and they changed things. It’s my fault.”

“Is it? Because that—” Carol points to the now turned-off TV “—that is typical Tony Stark Lets Himself Appear To Be An Asshole Because He Thinks He Deserves To Be Seen That Way behavior.” Steve can practically hear the capital letters.

She’s right, too. This is Tony punishing himself and playing the bad guy. Steve knows he genuinely feels guilty for what happened and it’s so frustrating because it’s all Steve’s fault. Tony’s behavior makes him feel even worse, but this time he doesn’t even have the energy to be angry.

“I should clear that up,” he declares. “Tell the press that it’s all my fault.”

“Yeah, that’s a bad idea if I ever heard one.” Carol shakes her head. “Don’t fight your battles on national TV. Talk to Tony.”

“He doesn’t answer his phone. I don’t even know where he’s staying right now.”

“You’re going to meet again. Just be patient. You know Tony. He overreacts.”

Steve shakes his head. He wants to tell them that this is it, that Tony really meant it and that Steve betrayed him by letting him enter their relationship without having all the facts, but he can’t bring himself to do it. And a part of him still thinks that this is something they can solve; he just needs to talk to Tony and everything will be okay.

That is not what is going to happen. He fucked it up. Now he needs to accept that.

And he will. Eventually. What he can’t accept is Tony taking the blame for it.

Half an hour later, when he’s in their—in _his_ —home in the tower, accepting things doesn’t seem nearly as possible anymore. He misses Tony like a lost limb. No, worse than that. He misses Tony like he missed his shield when he thought it lost forever. And it doesn’t help that they might still be friends and comrades, that things might simply return to the way they were before they became romantically involved, because back then taking their relationship further was a possibility. Something almost inevitable Steve had been looking forward to, without consciously knowing it, forever. Now it’s a thing of the past, something he had and has lost, and will never have again.

If he accepts it, he will never again sleep with his arms wrapped around Tony’s slim waist. He won’t wake up with Tony’s fingers in his hair. That kiss in the hall of the mansion, when Tony was already saying goodbye, will have been their last one.

They will never again watch silly shows on TV while lying on the couch together, Tony half in Steve’s lap, and that is worse. Steve won’t come home from his morning run to the coffee Tony left him when he had to leave early, the coffee too weak for Tony’s usual taste and the brand that Steve likes best. Right now, Steve can’t imagine ever not being Captain America and fighting the good fight, but eventually, if he lives long enough, age will get him and it will be time to retire and pass on the torch. And he only now realizes that he never doubted, somehow, that retirement meant spending more time with Tony. Living together somewhere, maybe playing mentor to the young ones. Maybe getting a dog. Sitting on the porch and watching the sun set with a blanket spread over their aching legs. Together.

It’s like there is no alternative. Steve removes this dream (this assumption) from his imagination and there is nothing to take its place.

Sex with Tony is great, and it’s better because he loves Tony, really loves him and takes pleasure from being with him like that. But he could live without it. Losing the easy intimacy between them, the comfort of each other’s presence and the overall affection and love that binds them even when they are fighting, that is something he isn’t sure he can take.

He lies awake that night, unable to find rest, just like the night before and the one before that. He hasn’t been able to sleep well or much since Tony was first taken from him.

Tony is just a man. A genius if there ever was one, an incredibly resourceful guy, but without his armor as vulnerable as any other man. Steve should have protected him. Then none of this would ever have happened.

Rhodes was right about that, too.

The bed is too big for one person. (The morning after the first night they shared together, Tony got up early and pretended it never happened, then pretended it didn’t matter and that Steve regretting it didn’t hurt him. Steve needed the whole day to convince him that he didn’t regret it and that it mattered. That it was safe to let himself have this. Maybe he never succeeded.) Steve rolls over again, ends up on Tony’s side, where he last saw him pale and full of sedatives the day Steve left here to have someone else deal with Tony’s demons.

At dawn, tired and worn out and determined, Steve has come to a decision. He gets up, showers, shaves, and packs the few things he needs in a small bag. Just outside the tower, he runs into Carol.

To be exact, he almost runs into Carol’s car that comes to a stop in front of the tower just as he leaves it. Steve doesn’t even realize it’s her until she opens the door and asks him where he’s going.

“Airport,” he says. “I need to make a trip.”

Her lips twitch. “And since you’re not taking the Quinjet, I assume it’s a private endeavor.”

“You got me. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so I’ll have a taxi take me there.”

“Why, when you can have me take you?” She gestures to the seat beside her. “Hop in.”

Steve does, secretly grateful for the opportunity, even as Carol throws sideway glances his way as she finds her way through the early morning traffic. The fact that she stopped by the tower and so quickly offered a ride indicates that she was hoping to talk to him anyway.

It doesn’t take long for her to break the silence. “So I take it you’re going to Seattle, then.”

“How do you know Tony is in Seattle?”

“How do you? I thought he doesn’t talk to you?”

“Where else would he be?” Steve shrugs and then admits, “I called Pepper Potts and she told me.” Besides, Tony loves Seattle. Somehow, he always seems to end up there.

Carol smirks, but the frown between her brows doesn’t disappear. “You’re taking matters into your own hands, then.”

“I have to. I can’t let him go on thinking that he is in any way to be blamed for this mess.”

“Well, he did dump you,” Carol points out. “And I can tell that hurt you.”

Steve would be lying if he claimed otherwise. “He had his reasons. And for him they make sense. They are still stupid, though. I don’t think… I mean, if he wants to break up with me, if he doesn’t love me anymore, then he did the right thing. But the way I see it… ” He shakes his head with a sigh. “I can’t let him go through with this.”

Carol shakes her head as well, but her lips twitch into something like a smile. “You amaze me, you know.”

“Why? Because I don’t want to give up something that made us both happy?”

“Exactly.”

Steve can’t help but stare at her in confusion and irritation. Why would that be in any way remarkable? “I hurt him, Carol. I really did. And if he can’t get over that, if it’s so bad… and it might be. I messed up but I don’t know how I could have done anything else. And maybe this is it. But I have to try.”

“And that’s what’s amazing,” Carol tells him. “You don’t usually do that.”

“I… what?”

“How many relationships have you been in, Steve? Serious ones?”

Steve thinks of Bernie, and Rachel. And Sharon, of course, over and over again. “Some.”

“And they all ended.”

“Naturally.”

“And you let them.”

“They were over,” Steve points out. They were. Sometimes they just drifted apart, sometimes there were conflicts that made them understand going their separate ways would be the wise thing to do. “We always parted as friends.”

“But you parted. And _you_ just let that happen.” Carol snorts softly. “Not that there is anything wrong with that. I mean, you never looked like a breakup ripped the heart out of your chest. Except for now, that is.”

Steve looks at her, still trying to figure out where this is going. “Your point being?”

“My point is that you've never fought to keep a lover after they left you. I’m sure some of your girlfriends would have gladly taken you back if you had asked them, but you never do. You’re just generally okay with parting as friends. Tell me if I’m wrong, because I sure don’t know everything about your private life, but this is the first time ever I’ve seen you take action to salvage a relationship. My point is that something makes Tony very special for you, and I will kick your ass if you don’t do everything you can to fix this, because obviously, this is the big one for you. Both of you.”

Steve should probably reply to that. Tell her she’s being silly, possibly. He’s too distracted by realizing she’s right. This is a first for him. Maybe him being rational in his breakups and calmly accepting of what he thought his partners wanted was just him not caring enough.

“Here we are,” Carol says minutes later, pulling into the parking lot of the airport. She looks over at Steve one last time; he already has his hand on the door handle. “Don’t let him push you away, Steve.” Her eyes are serious. “But by God, remember how messed up he is. He’s been though a lot and I don’t think he’s had the chance to properly deal with any of it. Don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t.” But when Steve stands near his gate an hour later, waiting to board the plane, he isn’t so sure he can do anything but.

 

-

 

It’s raining when he gets out of the airport. Heavy drops are falling from the sky as if they had a meaning. But it’s only rain. It carries not warning.

Steve has never been to James Rhodes' place in Seattle before. Why should he have? Despite the fact that the man is Tony’s best friend and they used to be on a team together, they never really had much to do with each other. For all Steve can tell, the apartment is moderately big and the building nice. It’s expensive, probably—for a place rarely used, at least. But the man makes good money with little time to spend it, and he’s friends with Tony Stark, who is notoriously generous and doesn’t seem to grasp some basic rules about social interaction. Steve doesn’t know why the place comes as a surprise.

Rhodes opens the door only seconds after Steve rings the bell. The way he does it, the sudden stop and how he opens his mouth to say something and then doesn’t make it obvious that he expected someone else.

“Well,” he says after a second. “Tony’s not here.”

“He’s not?” Steve hopes his disappointment isn’t too obvious, but then, what does it matter? “Where is he?”

Maybe Rhodes lied. Maybe he just doesn’t want Steve to see Tony, or Tony to see Steve, or Tony doesn’t want to see Steve.

“Out. No idea when he’ll be back. I was actually going to look for him in a minute.”

It’s not hard to guess who he expected to be at the door, then. “What’s he doing?” Rhodes seems worried.

“Would be none of your business even if I knew.” Rhodes also has a point. But then he opens the door further and beckons Steve to come inside, much to his surprise. “Get in here. I need to talk to you.”

“You could have called me.” Steve steps inside and the first thing he sees is the clutter on the couch in the living room. Tony has disassembled something there. Possibly a DVD player, or a toaster. He does that.

He’s been here and left traces of his presence all over the place.

“I’m not sure if I _want_ to talk to you. But since you’re here, I might as well. What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to Tony.”

“I figured that. What about?”

“That’s between me and Tony.” The reply is instinctive, but Steve can tell from Rhodes’ expression that it’s not particularly smart. “I’m not going to… I want to apologize.” There, that is much better. And not wrong.

“Good.” Rhodes leads Steve through the room, past a half-open door through which Steve can see a queen size bed, the sheets crumpled, indicating that Rhodes hasn’t been up for too long. He’s military, and if he’s anything like Steve, his beds tend to be made. With precision.

Tony’s friend closes the door as he passes it and walks over to the fridge, takes out two cans and hands one to Steve, who is about to make a snide comment about the man having beer in his kitchen while Tony lives with him but notices in time that he’s been handed a Coke.

Tony doesn’t mind people drinking in his presence. For some reason, he seems to think he constantly has to test his resolve.

Steve takes the Coke and feels stupid and awkward. “I saw the interview Tony gave.”

Something like a snarl twists Rhodes’ features. “I figured.”

“He was telling them bullshit.”

“I know. But that’s Tony for you. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Telling the media what really happened was my first idea, but I’ve been warned that this might get out of hand pretty quickly. In any case, I’d like to talk to Tony first. I think he misinterpreted som… no.” Steve shakes his head. This sounds wrong, and it’s not what he wants to say. “He blames himself for things that aren’t his fault and I need him to understand that this one is on me.”

“You wanted to kill him.” Rhodes’s stare is hard and unforgiving. Steve hangs his head because it’s true and nothing he’ll say will change it.

“I told you that there were a lot of things I should have told him while he was still alive,” he finally mentions. “Now I got the chance and it would be stupid not to take it.”

Rhodes hums, and it sounds like agreement.

“Daniel Serkwich is dead,” Steve says, shamefully hoping to change the topic. “He was killed by a SHIELD agent while in their custody.”

Rhodes raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look too surprised. “The agent’s working for their organization?” He shakes his head, his expression darkening. “Tony warned Hill about that.”

“He did. And she took care of all double agents he could name and started an investigation, but this one got through. We got her now, though, and maybe she call tell us more about others.”

“She won’t. They don’t know about each other.” Rhodes shakes his head again. “It’s a shame. I would have loved to get to know that guy a little better.”

Steve knows what he means and thinks it might be better there is no chance for a personal meeting anymore—for both Rhodes and himself. “You said you wanted to talk to me,” he reminds the other man. “What about?”

“Tony.”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

“Me wanting you to clear things up with him and make him understand that he’s not to be blamed for this one had something to do with it,” Rhodes explains. So at least in this they are on the same page. “You are never going to make up if each of you thinks it’s their respective fault, so you need to make him agree that you are the one who’s in the wrong here. You can go far from there.”

“You… I don’t know… Do you think there is any chance that Tony might even want to try again? Now that he knows everything?” Rhodes is probably not the best person to ask, but he’s the only one, and Steve can’t hold himself back. He needs some hope.

The other man sighs. Looks at the kitchen floor with one hand propped on the counter. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Hope, yes. Tony loves you, but when has he ever managed to secure his own happiness? So whatever decision he makes, it’s probably going to be wrong.”

Steve isn’t sure if that’s even _supposed_ to help him. “That’s not much to work with.”

“It’s all you have. And if you fuck it up I’m coming after you. Because I’m going to do something now that doesn’t come easily for me and you’d better not make me regret it.”

Normally, Steve wouldn’t react well to people trying to threaten him, but Rhodes is doing this with the aim to protect Tony and Steve thinks that maybe, in this case, he has a right. “What do you want?”

“I need you to look after Tony. He’s still hurt, and he’s not handling things very well—you, his memories, what happened to him… He’s going to deny it if you ask him but I know him too well to be fooled. To be honest, I’m worried. And I have to leave for a couple of days, starting tomorrow. I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“And you’re asking me.” It’s almost a question. Steve didn’t think Rhodes wanted him anywhere near Tony. He thought the man would be pretty happy about their breakup.

“You love him,” Rhodes simply says, as if that explained everything. “You might be a dick, but I know you’ll do your best to help. And that’s all I want: for Tony to get over this. It’s too much at once. You know how fragile he can be.” He doesn’t wait for Steve to reply but looks him straight in the eye and declares, “Tony loves you, and leaving you is killing him. Leaving you because he thinks he is a horrible person makes it worse. So fix that and be there for him. He needs _you_ to help him deal with this shit, you asshole.”

“I don’t get—”

“Most of the crap that’s killing him is centered around you: you dying, you fighting him, you being with him when he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. You thinking he’s a traitor and a piece of shit. You know, that kind of stuff. I can’t fix that. You can’t either, but you can try. Are you up for that or did you just come to say you’re sorry so you can sleep better at night?”

There’s open challenge in the other’s voice now, and something like hurt that Steve can’t place. “I…” He trails off when he realizes that Rhodes is right. So much of Tony’s life, his decisions, his demons have to do with Steve. Maybe they always were too close. Maybe Steve didn’t get the responsibility he had. Tony always looked at Steve for moral guidance. He still did what he thought he had to even if Steve did not agree, but he looked at Steve for what he should have done if he were a better person. If Steve did not agree, what Tony did was wrong. Necessary, perhaps (in Tony’s eyes), but wrong. If Steve hated him for it, it was something unforgivable. Because Tony sees Steve (not Captain America, _Steve_ ) as an example of all the ways in which he fails.

The fight over the SHRA was more than just their opinions clashing. Steve has always known that, but maybe he understands for the first time now. For Steve it was about betrayal. For Tony it was about giving up everything he ever hoped he might be.

And having Steve confirm to him over and over again that there can be no redemption.

Tony just remembered that. He knew before, but now he’s lived it. It’s no surprise that he can’t stand to be with Steve anymore.

Maybe Steve is being selfish.

“I won’t let you down,” he promises.

“Great.” Rhodes turns back to the fridge and opens it, but he doesn’t make a move to take anything out. He just stares inside as if looking for something. “Then you can start by finding him and getting him back here. He should be somewhere nearby. I think he just took a walk, was surprised by the rain.”

He’s probably right, but Steve’s stomach still turns. No one knows where Tony is right now. The last time that happened, it was weeks before they saw him again.

Without another word, Steve walks out of the door, picking up speed with every step down the stairs.

 

-

 

It’s still raining when Steve leaves the building. Pouring, actually. The rain comes down in long, straight lines of water and Steve spares a moment to be glad he’s wearing his boots and not sneakers as he steps into the puddle the walkway has turned into. At least his feet will stay dry, even as every other part of him gets soaked.

He has no idea where to start looking for Tony. Rhodes expected him to have come back when Steve showed up, so he must have been gone for a while, and Steve knows that Tony can wander pretty far when he’s brooding. It started raining at least an hour ago, so the sensible thing for Tony to do would have been to seek shelter somewhere and wait it out; maybe in a café, like he and Steve sometimes did in New York when the weather changed suddenly and they had no place to be.

But this is Seattle and Steve doesn’t know the area like he does Manhattan. He doesn’t know if there’s any place nearby that Tony likes, or might like. He knows there’s a park about two miles from here because he’s seen it out of the window of the taxi that took him to Rhodes’ apartment, so that is the direction he goes. Maybe he’ll find Tony sitting warm and dry in some little shop somewhere between the apartment and the park.

Or maybe he doesn’t need to do any of that because Tony is walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street right now, since he did not have the sense not to get drenched and Steve never really thought he would. He’s not looking down, or up, but his gaze is blank, lost in thought, and he doesn’t notice Steve until he’s almost reached him.

Then he looks started. A little wary. Hard to read, overall, which means he might be panicking.

He’s dripping wet and getting wetter, his sweater sticking to his body because he’s not wearing a coat and his hair plastered to his face. He’s pale and thin, like the last time Steve had seen him, but also wet and almost translucent in the heavy rain, like a ghost.

(When they were fighting over the SHRA, Steve knew exactly how Tony felt about him, and about himself.)

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks now, coming to stand underneath a tree that does nothing to protect him from the rain. “Did something happen?”

“You left me.” Steve takes a step closer but keeps a respectful distance, like one would with a nervous animal. “That happened.”

“Yes, I was there. But why are you here, now?”

“Tony.” Tony’s hair is too long and hanging into his eyes. “Do you love me?”

“I… ” Tony blinks. “What does it matter?”

“It matters to me. Because I love you. Having my feelings returned would be a pretty big deal, don’t you think?” Steve attempts a smile.

“We’re not teenagers.”

“No. We’re adults. Which means that when we have a problem, we can work it out.”

“We don’t have a problem anymore. I solved it.”

“How can you stay that, you arrogant bastard?” There is no venom in Steve’s voice, but Tony flinches anyway. He looks so sad; it breaks Steve’s heart. “Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t love you.”

“You’re lying. That was pathetic, try again.”

“You cannot stand there and decide how I feel.”

“I know how you feel and I know you’re the worst person ever when it comes to sabotaging your own happiness. So let me try this again. I love you, Tony. I always have. Fighting you was the worst thing I ever had to do.”

“You didn’t have to do it.” Tony sounds helpless and lost; this is getting away from him and he has little control over what’s happening. “You could have given in. Protested in another way. There didn’t have to be violence. I was trying to protect you, you asshole.”

“I know.” Steve takes a steps closer and Tony takes a step back, but there’s a wall behind him and he’s trapped, and Steve is within arm’s reach now. Just that; just close enough to reach out and place his hand on the side of Tony’s face. “I know.”

“It all went so wrong,” Tony whispers, and his eyes have that far-away look that sees terrible things he won’t get over.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” Steve shakes his head and his throat closes. He has wished for this conversation for so long, thinking how unfair it was that he had to carry this burden alone while Tony knew his own history and guilt only as words on paper. Now the conversation is happening it just hurts. He doesn’t get to yell. Tony’s apologies don’t offer vindication. “No, it’s okay. I forgive you. I’m sorry, too.”

Tony was responsible for creating the Thor clone that killed Bill, but that wouldn’t have happened (perhaps, perhaps not yet, perhaps not like this) if Steve hadn’t started that fight. He’s spent a lot of time burying his own guilt by blaming Tony.

“You don’t get to be sorry,” Tony snaps. The water on his face isn’t all rain, Steve is certain. “You did exactly what I knew you’d do. The right thing. Fight for what we believe in. I did a lot of shit so you could keep being the good guy without dooming everyone. Even get you killed, and Bill, and Jan… I didn’t sell out so that _you_ can feel sorry.”

Steve wasn’t there, of course he wasn’t, but he has seen footage from Jan’s funeral. Heard Hank’s accusing words and seen Tony accept them. They made him so angry, but Hank has been grieving and Tony didn’t remember. Steve never brought it up.

“I won’t let you do this,” he says. “It’s not all your fault. You did what you thought you had to. But you got us into that mess because you thought you knew best and made decisions for all of us. And now you’re doing it again.”

Tony’s face falls, the anger draining away and leaving blankness in its wake. Steve is using Tony’s guilt to get what he wants, and under different circumstances, he would feel terrible for it. But now it is necessary since it’s the only way to make Tony understand. As a tactician, Steve needs to use what resources he has.

“I thought I lost you,” he continues. “You were dead and I was left with a lot of things I should have done and said. Then I got you back. Can you imagine how that felt? It was as if my life had a meaning again—not as Captain America but as Steve Rogers. Suddenly I was granted the chance to do and say what I had to instead of just regretting not having done it. After all these weeks of not being allowed to see you and then losing you for good, I couldn’t wait to finally get you back. Do you have any idea how happy I was to see you that day? All I wanted was to hold you, but what I got instead was you walking out on me for _some stupid reason._ ” He’s not yelling but it’s a close call. Talking about it makes him realize how much it hurt.

And Tony looks utterly miserable, but also determined, because he thinks he knows better. He always thinks he knows better, and that hurting himself is okay if it gets the job done. It used to make Steve so angry. (It still does.)

“Tony.” Steve cups Tony’s face in both hands now, and he’s standing very close. “You mean more to me than any other person on this Earth,” he gets out one of the things Tony needs to know even as Tony’s body tenses and his eyes flicker away to something that is safer than Steve’s face. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you. I’ve long since forgiven you for what you did when you thought you had to. You make me so angry sometimes, but I always knew you’re a good man and that you have good intentions. Always. Even when we were fighting.” He takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry. This is my fault, all of it. I never wanted to hurt you.” Water is running from Tony’s hair and over his hands, painfully cold. “Please forgive me.” He leans in and brushes his lips over Tony’s, just for a second, but it’s enough to make his heart sing. Afterwards he looks into Tony’s eyes and Tony looks back at him, his lashes very dark and long and wet. “Do you love me?” he asks again, his whole world balancing precariously on this one question.

Tony closes his eyes and for a second the water touching Steve’s fingers is warm. He nods, the movement barely visible. “Always,” he whispers.

“Okay, then.” Steve tries a smile again, tries to lighten the mood, but really, all he wants to do is kiss this man so he does, with gentleness and love and his tongue slowly pushing between Tony’s parted lips. And for one precious moment, Tony lets him in and lets it happen.

Then he turns his head and places his hand over Steve’s chest, right over his heart, and pushes him away just a bit. “Wait,” he says. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Steve tries to be patient. He tries not to be annoyed, or hurt, or desperate. “There is no reason—”

“I’m with Rhodey,” Tony says.

Oh.

_Oh._

“You what?” Impressively eloquent. Steve would be proud of his witty words and his gaping expression if his brain were working at all. And they praised him for adjusting to changes in battle in a matter of second. He shook his head and tried again. “What?”

“I’m with Rhodey,” Tony repeated. “Have been for days. Because you and I are over and there’s no way back.”

“No. Tony, are you serious?” The shock and confusion are quickly making way to anger. “You get together with your best friend to make a point about the two of us? How irresponsible and selfish can you be? Did it ever cross your mind that you hurt people’s feelings with this? You know the guy would do anything for you so you use him as a distraction?” Of course it didn’t cross his mind, because he is Tony Stark and the world does, in fact, revolve around him.

With this new information, the conversation with Rhodes, his tension and insistence that Steve make up with Tony appear in a completely new light.

Tony pushes Steve away with more force and twists out of his grip, anger and something else flashing over his face and making him look alive. “Why does everyone think that?” he snaps.

“Because what else are we supposed to think when you throw yourself at him hours after breaking up with me even though you’re still in love with _me_?”

“I didn’t break up with you because I don’t love you anymore. I think we established that quite well. But break up with you I did, and there is a reason why it was Rhodey, of all people, I turned to. What makes it so impossible to imagine that I love both of you?” Tony shoots back. Steve is acutely aware that they are standing on the street where anyone can hear them and anyone with a cell phone can record their fight and send it to the media, but he finds he doesn’t care right now.

Still, his voice is much quieter when he says “Tony,” and forces himself not to move. “I know you love him, as a friend. Like I love Bucky, and Sam. But you can’t confuse the two, and you can’t pretend. It isn’t fair on either of you. Us.”

“Why, thank you for telling me what I’m feeling.” Tony’s jaw shifts, his whole posture screaming stubborn defiance and hurt. “In case that wasn’t clear, I am bisexual. I didn’t suddenly turn gay for you. And Jim is a damn attractive guy who also happens to be one of the most extraordinary and clever and loyal people I have ever met, so it’s not like he never showed up on my radar before now. In fact, if you absolutely have to know, I’ve been with him before. Several times. The first time before I ever met you, so don’t tell me how this time I’m ruining our friendship!”

Steve opens his mouth for a quick reply but only gets rain inside before he snaps it shut again. Something inside his stomach knots and aches. “I… you never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

“I’d assu—” But that was stupid and Steve knows it. Still. He shakes his head. “And what about how Rhodes is feeling about you? Are you sure this isn’t just something he does out of misguided loyalty to you?”

“You don’t know Jim very well. He would never do this if he didn’t want to.”

“No, but maybe he thinks you need it and wants to help you.”

“Stop assuming things about people you hardly know,” Tony snarls. Steve wonders if he includes himself in that and clenches his hand until his nails are biting into his palm.

“You’re right, I don’t know Rhodes very well. But when I met him just now he was very eager to push us back together so he can leave, so forgive me for drawing my conclusions from that!”

Steve realizes he could have worded that better when he sees the look on Tony’s face.

For a second, Tony stands motionless. Then he starts walking toward the house, his pace brisk but his movements jerky. Steve follows a few steps behind him, feeling like an intruder now, and like a bastard, and cursing himself for feeling like he’s won something.

Tony ignores the elevator, leaving a wet trail up the stairs. Steve can see that he’s still limping, how he’s leaning heavily onto the rail, but he never slows down.

The door to the apartment is unlocked and Tony storms inside, straight into the bedroom where Rhodes is busy changing the sheets and straightening the covers and this time Steve sees it and is overcome by a wave of jealousy that blindsides him completely and lets him stop dead in his tracks.

Rhodes slept with Tony in that bed; last night, while Steve was lying in his own bed staring at the ceiling and longing for Tony, Rhodes had his hands on Tony’s hips and his lips on Tony’s mouth and maybe Tony didn’t think of Steve at all.

The door slams shut and leaves Steve alone with his thoughts and feelings he doesn’t want and can’t seem to rip out of his chest.

 

-

 

There’s yelling going on behind the closed door. It’s far from soundproof; if Steve wanted to, he could understand every word they say, but he doesn’t want to for several reasons. Instead, he lingers in the kitchen, which is as far away from the bedroom as he can be without entering the office he has no place being in. It’s hard not to listen. It is even harder to do so.

Apparently Rhodes was under the impression he was doing what was best for Tony when he pushed Steve at him. Apparently Tony feels like he forced himself on his friend when he wasn’t wanted and is furious that Rhodes wouldn’t tell him.

Apparently, they have a lot to talk about.

Declarations of love are in there, yelled along with accusations and justifications like something that is given and doesn’t need to be discussed. Steve wonders if Tony can take the words from Rhodes without looking down; he never quite managed that with Steve, has never quite learned how to simply accept that someone loves him.

If he can look Rhodes in the eyes and just acknowledge that someone he loves loves him back and feel happy rather than uneasy, then Steve really has no reason for staying here to see how that fight turns out.

But he doesn’t know because he can’t see them and it’s hope, and maybe concern and maybe desperation, but definitely stupid, selfish hope that makes him stay and wait. He leans against the fridge, closing his eyes after the loud voices die down and he can hear nothing but the impression of whispers from the other side of the door. Quiet talking, some kind of conclusion that was reached. Maybe a kiss, somewhere in there. Maybe a kiss goodbye.

It takes a long time. Steve imagines Rhodes wrapping his arms around Tony and holding him close, imagines Tony kissing a trail along Rhodes’ jaw and guiding him to the bed the man just made. He feels horrible for the thoughts and the feelings they bring. This is intrusive and petty and not like him at all. He has never felt like this about anyone else. Carol was right. She’d fondly mock him if she knew, but Steve doesn’t like the person he is turned into by this much love, and the prospect of loss.

Eventually, finally, the silence is broken by the sound of a door opening. Steve opens his eyes in time to see Rhodes guide Tony through the door just beside the bedroom, where Steve suspects a bathroom. A good idea, he thinks distantly. Tony is still soaking wet.

Steve is still soaking wet and dripping onto Rhodes kitchen floor. He should feel bad about it. He should not wish that he was in the shower with Tony or that Rhodes wasn’t.

It’s a while before Rhodes comes out of the room, but he does it alone, and inside the shower is still running. As he steps into the harsh light of the kitchen lamp, Steve can see the wet spots on his clothes from where he held Tony against his body.

“So,” Rhodes greets him. “This is awkward.”

“Consider yourself lucky if that’s all it is for you.” Steve pushes himself away from the refrigerator, feeling like his body is covered in lead. “I suppose congratulations on saving _your_ relationship are in order.” There’s a question in there. Whatever hope Steve had left, however, dies when Rhodes rubs the back of his head and is suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“Well, I suppose,” he agrees. “Rumor has it that I am an idiot.”

“That makes three of us,” Steve says tiredly. And it’s all he has left to say. He just wants to get out of here.

“Where are you going?” Rhodes asks when Steve is almost at the door.

“Home,” Steve replies without turning. “I need to catch a plane, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“What happened to watching over Tony?” the other man asks him. “I still have to leave tomorrow, and just because Tony and I cleared up some misconceptions, that doesn’t mean that he should be left alone.”

Steve closes his eyes. He knows Tony is still struggling and needs someone to be there for him, but it can’t be him. Steve staying with him wouldn’t do any of them any favors. “You’re an asshole, Rhodes.”

“I know. But maybe not a much as you think.”

Steve finally turns around, shuts the door he had already opened so the neighbors won’t get a free audio drama to go along with the heavy rain hitting the windows. “What?” he snarls. “You’re willing to share him with me?” He’s aware he’s being unfair and terrible right now, but he can’t find it in himself not to be. Tony does that to him, and apparently, his friends do as well.

“Actually, it was Tony’s idea.”

Steve stares, and Rhodes looks even more awkward than before. If he’s anything like Steve, well, the situation has to be pretty damn desperate and weird for him to even consider it. If he’s even suggesting what Steve thinks he is.

“Tony suggested we share,” Steve repeats, to make sure. “Him.”

“That’s what it comes down to.” Rhodes shakes his head, as if he can’t believe he’s saying this. That _is_ something they have in common, at least. Besides Tony, that is. “Listen, this is really weird. And awkward. Best Tony explains it to you while I’m... elsewhere. Out. Just, to get that out of the way, I’m, uh. Okay with it. For now. To try.” He bites his lip, shakes his head again, and grabs a coat from a hook on the wall. Steve stares at him, looking for words, but then the bathroom door opens and while Steve is distracted by Tony coming into view, Rhodes escapes through the door.

The door shuts like something final. Tony stands on the other end of the living area that separates them in a black-and-blue striped sweater that Steve has never seen before and that is at least three sizes too big for him. There is a hood lying unused on Tony’s back, soaking up the water that drips from his hair. It’s not something Tony would pick for himself.

And at that moment, Steve knows that whatever it is Tony and Rhodes have in mind, it can never work. Because it was Steve’s oversized clothes Tony used to steal and Steve only realizes how much he secretly liked seeing him in them when he sees him drowning in the sweater of someone else.

He’s not used to the jealousy and possessiveness that washes over him.

“Tony,” he says, and the next words would have been ‘I’m leaving,’ or maybe ‘You have to choose.’ But he has fantastic eyesight due to the serum, and sees the tremors that run though Tony’s body. Sees the flush on his cheeks, and he remembers how cold the rain was. Tony’s hair has been ruffled by a towel but he evidently didn’t have the patience to get it properly dry.

So Steve swallows his words and wraps Tony in a blanket he finds on the arm of the couch. Makes him sit down and sits beside him, and Tony is already half in his lap, and leaning against him like Steve is something to be taken for granted.

Like nothing is broken between them.

They talk, but not much. When Rhodes comes back an hour later, they are still sitting like that, with the blanket and the closeness, only that Tony is asleep now and Steve has come to a decision.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun is pleasantly warm on Jim’s face when he walks the short distance from the taxi to the building, but it does nothing to ease the cold knot of dread in his stomach. Or maybe it’s just nervousness. He can’t even tell anymore.

All he knows is that entering a three-way relationship including a guy he has little to no ties with and then going away for a week before they had a chance to settle into anything is terrible timing.

He’d heard from Tony yesterday and Tony sounded well, only moderately stressed (what passes for relaxed by Tony’s current standards) and happy about Jim being on his way back. There was nothing in his voice that gave Jim reason for worry, and after days of doing just that, it calmed him down considerably. But now the doubt is back, and so is the dread. The whole arrangement was shaky from the start; he loves Tony but doesn’t know what to do with Rog— with Steve. Steve loves Tony but doesn’t know what to do with Jim. Tony loves both of them but is insecure about them loving him back and just generally terrible about having a personal life. This thing can’t work unless Jim and Steve manage to create something between them as well. Tony is not a child of divorced parents that one of them gets for the weekends.

And seven days are a long time for him to realize that he loves Steve better and can do well without Jim, actually. A part of Jim has been waiting for Tony to call and awkwardly tell him just that all week. The same part expects his apartment to be empty upon his arrival, with a note stuck to the refrigerator: “Gone to Fiji for honeymoon, left the keys under the doormat.”

There is no note on the refrigerator. Jim knows, because that’s where his gaze travels the moment he enters the apartment. He isn’t quite pathetic enough to check the doormat for hidden keys.

The place is, however, empty. Jim checks the bedroom, the bathroom, the office. Tony said he would be here. Steve apparently has business to take care off in New York and will be gone for a few days, but Tony stayed because he’s still off the Avengers’ rooster and will be for a while. Jim knows he wants to stay close to the Resilient offices. For all that he claims not to have anything to do with that company anymore, he sure likes to spend a lot of time there.

Maybe he’s there right now. Or maybe he’s shopping for groceries. Jim could take out his cell phone and call him. He wonders if he’s that desperate yet.

His laptop is standing on the kitchen table. It’s turned on but in sleep mode. Tony must have been working on it just recently, and he didn’t turn it off, so he probably didn’t leave for New York with Steve.

With a sigh, Jim drops his bags in his bedroom and begins to unpack the few things he took with him, taking out the laundry that needs to be washed, placing the toothbrush back in the bathroom. Tony’s toothbrush is still there, and another one that wasn’t there when Jim left.

Hunger leads him back to the kitchen. The laptop, unsurprisingly, hasn’t moved. Maybe Tony left him an e-mail. Jim could just as well check his cell phone, but the laptop is right there, and it’s not like Tony can complain about Jim using it, since it’s his and all.

There doesn’t seem anything dramatic going on when Jim wakes it up. No running programs that tell him what Tony has been doing. A web browser is active—not the one Jim installed—but it shows only Google, with no additional tabs open and the search history deleted.

“Good Afternoon, Jim,” the laptop says. Its voice is deep and pleasant, though obviously artificial. Jim looks at it and says, “Huh.”

“Tony Has Left A Message For You,” the laptop continues. Jim stares at it, looking for the program talking to him, but there’s nothing until he opens the task manager and finds a program eloquently named :P.

Apparently, :P and Tony are on first name basis already.

“What message?” he asks warily. “And how do you know it’s me?”

“Tony Is Out Taking Steve To The Airport And Will Be Back Shortly,” the laptop tells him. In reply to his other question, it opens a window that shows Jim’s face as shown through the camera integrated in the frame.

“That is not creepy at all.” From now on, Jim will cover that thing with band aids at all times.

“It Truly Is Not,” the laptop agrees. “As I Am An Artificial Intelligence Without An Agenda Of My Own, I Would Not Benefit From Spying On You Or Watching You In States Of Undress.”

“Oh, I see Tony taught you the basics of human nature.” Jim doesn’t know if he should be amused, exasperated or creeped out. He settles for putting the computer back into sleep mode and considers throwing it out of the window.

“It’s impolite to end a conversation by turning off your partner,” Tony says behind him and Jim nearly brains him with the laptop.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” he snaps. “What did you do to my computer? And why did you take Steve to the airport? You’re not supposed to drive yet.”

“I missed you, too.” Tony smiles like he really did and places a hand to the back of Jim’s neck to pull him into a kiss.

The kiss feels pretty damn real, too, and Jim feels himself relax into it and let go of his concerns. “Is the laptop watching us?” he asks warily after they break apart. Tony rolls his eyes.

“Even if it was, it wouldn’t get anything out of this. And you can shut him down, you know? But first you’ll have to let me show you all the stuff he can do. Like deliver messages whenever you don’t know when someone who can’t use a phone might arrive.” He makes a move to turn the laptop back on but Jim holds him back.

“Later,” he says. “Let’s have coffee first. How are you? How’s Steve?” The last question comes with a bit of hesitation, but Jim finds he actually cares. If Captain America was called back to New York, something must be going on.

Then again, if something was going on, he probably wouldn’t take a commercial airline.

“Steve is awesome. No catastrophes, just paperwork. I’m awesome, too. Let’s have coffee, honey bear.”

Jim scoffs at the nickname but doesn’t really mind. Tony actually does sound good, but a shadow falls over his face whenever he’s watching Jim and thinks Jim isn’t watching him right back. It’s worry, Jim realizes with a start. Tony has been worried he might have changed his mind just as much as Jim did.

The thought is amazingly reassuring, actually. Jim feels himself relax for the first time since he got here.

There’s leftover pizza in the fridge, which they eat cold as it is, and Jim is pleased to see Tony finish two whole slices before claiming to be full. The slices aren’t big and Tony is still too thin, but it’s so much better than it was a week ago.

“Steve would frown at us if he were here,” Tony rambles around his final bite. “He thinks cold pizza is disgusting. He also thinks it’s disgusting to warm it up again. But he doesn’t like food going to waste. He doesn’t make sense. Pepper sent some money to my account,” he suddenly changes the topic; obviously he’s in a good mood. “Quite a lot of money. Labeled it a fee for advising on technological matters, but I don’t know which time she paid me for, because I do that a lot. Anyway, we can use the money for getting a bigger apartment. Or a house. Can we do a house? We all need our own space, or else we will kill each other. Not that we will spend that much time in one place, all things considered. Still. Own space. So at least four bedrooms. Or at least a bigger bed.” A grin flashes over his face. “But only after Steve returns; I want to see how we all fit into the one we have.”

“Steve and I wouldn’t fit even without you.” Even with Jim and Tony it had been a tight fit that only worked because they were sleeping with their limbs entwined and mostly on top of each other, and Tony, though tall, has considerably less mass than Jim or Steve, especially now. With Steve and Tony, it can’t have been any different, and Jim suddenly becomes aware that while he was out on his mission, they were having sex in his bed.

That thought is weird enough. Jim really doesn’t want to imagine sharing a bed with Steve Rogers right now. Maybe later. Not now. “Did you look for apartments already?” he asks to change the topic. He only uses this place when he happens to be in Seattle anyway; he doesn’t have any particular emotional attachment to it.

“We found some that look good, but Steve said we should wait for you before we go looking at them.”

“And now we have to wait for him.”

“The downside of so many people,” Tony complains, but he looks content enough.

Jim takes his hand and marvels at how he is alive and here. “You look happy.”

Tony really does. He’s still a little pale and suffering from the persistent low-grade fever that started when he got soaked by the rain while his body was busy recovering from his ordeals. His left hand is still bandaged and he is still limping a little, and Jim is going to make him see a doctor about that if it doesn’t stop soon. He still has shadows around his eyes that speak of nightmares and too little rest. But right here and now, sitting in their kitchen with Jim and talking about Steve and getting a place to share, he looks happy.

“I think I might be.” Tony looks thoughtful, but then he smiles as if in wonder. Happiness doesn’t come easily to him. Jim wouldn’t even be surprised if he has trouble identifying the emotion.

But he’s happy now. Cautiously happy, perhaps, but happy nonetheless. And so, he finds, is Jim. For the first time in far too long, the future holds the promise of something good.

He’ll take that, for all it is worth.

 

 

May 1st, 2013


End file.
